
Glass IBSj^=lP_7 ^ 




WASHINGTON IRVING 

At the age of 27 



/ 






TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



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SELECTED TALES 



FROM 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

BY 

WASHINGTON IRVING 

EDITED BY 

JEl^NIE F. CHASE 

Teacher of English in the William McKinley 
High School, St. Louis, Missouri 



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1909 

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Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



PREFACE 

The purpose of the "Pocket Classics" is so well known 
that it seems scarcely necessary to say more of this one than 
that this purpose has been held in mind as steadfastly as 
was possible to the writer. Elucidation of the text, presen- 
tation of the influences which moulded the author's charac- 
ter, as well as the principles which guided his work, in 
connection with the details of his biography, and some few 
suggestions as to feasible methods of using the Tales as 
a basis for the technical study of good expression, were the 
main considerations. 

Hearty thanks are due from the readers as well as from 
the writer for the cordial permission of the Houghton Mifflin 
Company to use Charles Dudley Warner's Irving. It has 
been the basis of all biographical detail, and many critical 
estimates, to such an extent that apologies may be necessary 
for resemblances in expression where the thought has taken 
on its coloring, though the quotation marks were impossible^ 

J. F. C. 



" Life, behind its accidents, stands strong and self-sustain- 
ing, 
The human fact transcending all the losing and the 
gaining." ~ Whittier. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface v 

Introduction ix 

To Teachers . , . . . . . . xxviii 

Tales of a Traveller 

To the Reader 1 

Part First : Strange Stories by a Nervous Gentleman 5 

The Great Unknown 7 

The Hunting-Dinner 9 

The Adventure of My Uncle 15 

The Adventure of My Aunt . . . . .30 

Part Second : Buckthorne and His Friends . \ 37 
Literary Life . . . . . . . .39 

A Literary Dinner 42 

The Club of Queer Fellows 46 

The Poor-Devil Author 53 

Notoriety . . . . . . . .77 

A Practical Philosopher 80 

Part Third : The Italian Banditti .... 83 

The Inn at Terracina 85 

The Adventure of the Little Antiquary . . . 101 

The Belated Travellers 112 

vii 



Vlii CONTENTS 






PAGE 


The Adventure of the Popkins Family . 


. 132 


The Adventure of the Englishman . 


. 139 


Part Pourth: The Money Diggers 


. 147 


Hell-gate 


. 149 


Kidd the Pirate ^ 


. 153 


Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams 


. 160 


Notes 


. 225 


Index to Notes 


. 263 



INTRODUCTION 

IRVING^S LIFE AND WORKS 

Many interests combine to make the charm of reading, 
but no other one compares in intensity with the keen 
desire of a normal human being to know the experiences 
of others. With an instinctive effort to know ourselves 
better, we love to follow the struggles and successes, the 
emotions and pecuHar characteristics, of interesting people 
with whom we can come into touch only through the 
sympathy and comprehension of the mind, as well as of 
those whom we can grasp by the hand. It is life that 
holds us all — life of the slums, of the bush, of the palace ; 
life overseas or at our own hearthstones. And the author 
who makes his appeal to humanity vivid is sure of a 
hearing, though the character of his audience will be de- 
termined by the skill with which he makes his appeal as 
well as by its nature. 

Irving lives in literature to-day primarily because he 
felt a keen interest in the lives with which he came into 
contact. The intensity of this feeling, together with his 
early interest in reading and the social nature which in- 
clined him to share everything, led him to embody his 
impressions freely, adding, liberally, to the original facts, 
exuberant fancies which enriched and diversified them, 
transforming with the magic touch of his humor what- 
ever incongruous elements appeared, and making all 
wholesome with the deft scalpel of his irony. 

Quite close to this prime interest in people is the 



X INTRODUCTION 

understanding of natural surroundings. It was pre- 
eminent in Irving. The lad who wandered about the 
farms of Manhattan heard the croaking of the frogs, the 
tap of the woodpeckers, and the scoffing laugh of the 
crows, as well as the tales of the good wives. As he stood 
at the pier heads on the Battery, or watched the swirling 
waters of Hell Gate, his dreams were not idle, for he was 
unconsciously storing up those treasures which always 
accrue from genuine and active interest. The youth who 
was the first to depict the loveliness of the Hudson found 
original expression, also, for the attractions of places 
^^old in story, ^' when he looked upon them with untired 
eyes trained to beauty and rejoicing in its manifestations. 
In this genuine, warm-hearted love of life of all kinds 
lay Irving's genius. 

In America there had been no voice to tell in ringing 
tones of the new life there till Irving spoke. There had 
been religious works and magnificently clear, forceful 
writing in defence of colonial rights and on other political 
themes. We had even produced a novelist. Charles 
Brockden Brown had written stories — too much like 
his European patterns of the eighteenth century, it is 
true, and not genuinely American in tone. Charles 
Dudley Warner says, ^^The figures who are moved in 
them seem to be transported from the pages of foreign 
fiction to the New World, not as it was, but as it existed 
in the minds of European sentimentalists.'' He was, 
however, the first American who ^^made literature a pro- 
fession and attempted to live on its fruits.'' 

There had been no original use of all the varied ma- 
terial of life under American conditions, with the atmos- 
phere of the New World about it. Irving saw things 
which aroused his admiration, his curiosity, his sense of 



INTRODUCTION xi 

the ludicrous. The inspiration seems to have come from 
the contrast between his own people and family life, and 
the conditions he found in the Dutch homes where he 
visited; for though the lives of the English and Dutch 
settlers seem to have been quite distinct in social matters, 
Irving 's family were on good terms with the best of both, 
and his personal charm no doubt gained him ready ad- 
mission everywhere then — as it did throughout his life. 
It would be most inappreciative of Irving ^s nature to 
think him capable of inhospitably using his friends as 
^'materiar^ for literature. It was not so. The contrasts 
apparent in different ways of living opened the way, in 
his observant mind, for sketches of people, places, and 
situations which later in his life set all the reading world 
to laughing or touched them with the tenderness of his 
own manly sympathy. 

Washington Irving was born on the 3d of April, 
1783, in the city of New York. His father, William, was 
of an old and respected Scotch family, whose fortunes, 
however, had declined. He had left his home in the 
Orkney Islands when a boy, and was a subordinate officer 
on a ship plying between Falmouth and New York when 
he met Sarah Sanders, the granddaughter of an English 
curate. They married in 1761, and two years later went 
to New York, where he entered into trade instead of 
following the sea. 

Washington, the youngest of eleven children and the 
eighth son, was born in what is now one of New York's 
busiest districts, in William Street between Fulton and 
John. In a quaint Dutch house across the street from 
there, he grew up in the midst of a happy family life 
where the father's rule in the spirit of the old Scotch 
Covenanters, though stern and evincing little sympathy 



XU INTRODUCTION 

with youthful recreations and gayety, was righteous and 
not lacking in essential tenderness ; and where the gentle- 
ness and fine intellect of the more demonstrative mother 
won her children's lifelong devotion. Washington was 
full of vivacity, drollery, and innocent mischief. His 
sportiveness and disinchnation to religious seriousness 
caused his mother some anxiety. She is quoted as say- 
ing, ^'Oh, Washington, if you were only good !'' He was 
fond of music and the theatre, and did not always re- 
spect his father's stern injunctions against the latter. 

Irving's routine studies were carried on in a desultory 
fashion throughout his youth because, perhaps, of his 
delicate health; but the exceptional nature and abilities 
of the tender-hearted, truthful, susceptible boy enabled 
him to accomplish without them much that was usually 
attained with difficulty. All vacations were spent in 
roaming about the neighboring country: a summer 
holiday passed in Westchester County when he was 
fifteen furnished the basis for the charming description 
of Sleepy Hollow with its dreamy, spectre-haunted atmos- 
phere. At seventeen he visited a married sister in the 
Mohawk Valley, and on his way there in a sailing vessel 
^^ discovered for literature the beauty of the Hudson.'' 

In 1802 he became a clerk in the law office of Josiah 
Ogden Hoffman, where he was, according to the usual 
method of those days, to prepare himself for practising 
law. Mr. Hoffman's family was of a refined character 
especially congenial to Irving, and the intimacy with 
them lasted throughout Irving 's life. With them he 
took a rough and romantic journey into the wilderness 
of northern New York, where Mr. Hoffman was interested 
in lands. 

In the next few years Irving spent much time in visits 



INTRODUCTION Xlil 

and excursions to various places from which he sent 
numerous interesting letters, the writing of which no 
doubt served well in the development of his style. He 
seems to have had no definite literary ambition at this time, 
his tendency being toward the idle life of a man of society. 

His first literary work published was a series of letters, 
signed ^'Jonathan Oldstyle/' to the Morning Chronicle, 
his brother Peter's new paper. They were daring satires, 
based mainly on the theatre, its audiences, and actors; 
and though in direct imitation of the Spectator, they 
show the author's own quiet humor, his sensibility, and 
that chivalrous devotion to woman which always char- 
acterized him, — a chivalry which led him — the boy of 
nineteen — to protest against the careless and unmanly 
habit prevailing at the time of jesting about ^^old maids,'' 
and to recognize their possible right to admiration, tender- 
ness, and protection. 

At twenty-one Irving's health remained so delicate that 
his brothers sent him to Europe. The sea voyage re- 
vived him greatly, and the literary world is richer for 
the failure of the captain's well-known prophecy, — 
^^ There's a chap who will go overboard before we get 
across ! " . Five weeks of sailing brought him to the 
mouth of the Garonne, and after six weeks at Bordeaux, 
where he learned the language, and a leisurely trip through 
France, he reached Genoa five months after he left New 
York. This was in 1804. France showed the effects of 
the Revolution, and travel was impeded by the suspicion 
of his being an English spy. At Avignon, Irving was 
sadly disappointed at finding that the tomb of Laura, 
one of the literary shrines at which he had hoped to 
pay the tribute of his poetic imagination, had been de- 
stroyed; but on the whole he lived in the spirit of his 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

own words, "When I cannot get a dinner to suit my 
taste, I endeavor to get a taste to suit my dinner.'' Friends 
were made everywhere amongst the best and most dis- 
tinguished people. They received him in their homes at 
Genoa with cordiahty, and gave him letters to eminent 
people in Florence, Rome, and Naples. 

From Genoa he went to Sicily, and had an experience 
on the journey which no doubt colored some of his later 
writings. The boat fell into the hands of pirates of the 
most approved style, with cutlasses in their hands, and 
stilettos and pistols stuck in their waistbands — pirates 
with a sense of humor, too, for on leaving they gave the 
captain a receipt for what they had taken and an order 
on the British consul at Messina to pay for the same ! 
Two months in Sicily were full of interesting explorations 
and agreeable idling at the ports, where the officers of 
American ships were most appreciative of his "boundless 
capacity for good fellowship.'' 

After a visit in Naples, he went to Rome, where for 
the first time he could enjoy freely masterpieces of music 
and of art. A friendship with Washington AUston, the 
American artist, made him dream for a time of remain- 
ing in Italy to study art. At Rome a certain banker 
was most assiduous in his attentions to Irving, and only 
when Irving was leaving, was it discovered that he had 
supposed him to be a relative of George Washington. 
This suggests another one of many anecdotes concerning 
his name. It was years later, when he had some literary 
fame, that an English lady rebuked the ignorance of her 
daughter who had asked information about the original 
of a bust marked "George Washington," by saying, 
"Why, my dear, don't you know? He wrote The Sketch 
Booh!'' 



INTRODUCTION XV 

I 

At the end of a year Irving was in Paris, where for 
four months he enjoyed the fascinating hfe of the French 
capital, and then went by way of the Netherlands to 
London. Here, as everywhere, he met famous people 
and made valuable friends. He rejoiced in attendance 
at the theatre and opera, loitered about historic scenes, 
and played an agreeable part in brilliant salons and at 
dinners where his hosts could appreciate the charm of 
his manner and his ingenuous nature. 

The eighteen months spent in this desultory fashion 
were an important factor in Irving ^s literary equipment, 
not alone in the material they furnished, but in the 
languages he learned and the cultivation resulting from 
wide experience amongst refined people of various nation- 
alities. But so far in his life there was little actual per- 
formance upon which to base any prediction of literary 
success. 

Irving returned to New York in 1806, resumed his 
study of law, and was admitted to the bar, though neither 
he nor his examiners probably had a very high opinion 
of* the amount of his legal knowledge. He entered again 
upon the active enjoyment of social life in Baltimore, 
Washington, Philadelphia, and Albany, as well as in 
New York, everywhere welcomed for his sunny, lively 
disposition, his agreeable manners and vivacious conver- 
sation — perhaps also for his comely appearance. A 
drawing which was made in Paris in 1 805 shows a most 
distinguished and attractive-looking face. 

Salmagundi was published at this period of Irving 's 
life, in conjunction with his eldest brother, William, and 
his lifelong friend, James K. Paulding. It was a small 
periodical which appeared twice a month for about ten 
months. Though the idea was, again, as in ^^ Jonathan 



XVI INTRODUCTION 

Oldstyle's'^ letters, borrowed from Addison^s Spectator ^ 
its wit and humor were largely original, and ''its amusing 
audacity and complacent superiority, the mystery hang- 
ing about its writers, its affectation of indifference to 
praise or profit, its fearless criticism, lively wit, and irre- 
sponsible humor, piqued, puzzled, and delighted the 
town/' It was read widely in other places, and was 
immensely successful. Here we have the real beginning 
of his literary career. 

Irving did not follow up his literary success immedi- 
ately, and after a half-hearted attempt to enter upon 
a political career, he gave that up, ''disgusted by the 
servility and duplicity and rascality witnessed among the 
swarm of scrub politicians. '^ 

A History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker, 
his first important work, resulted from a plan formed 
some time later with his brother Peter to satirize a pub- 
lication about New York which had just appeared. It 
was to be a burlesque upon pedantry and erudition. 
Peter having been called abroad by business, Irving 
finished it alone in a way altogether different from trhe 
original intention, after condensing what they had written 
together into five chapters. Some critics seem to think 
it would have been better to condense those five into one, 
and then throw it away ! 

During the progress of this work Irving suffered a 
great sorrow in the illness and death of Matilda Hoff- 
man, whom he had expected to marry. The loss affected 
his entire life, for though he seems to have admired 
women of his acquaintance very much, and though some 
of his letters indicate that he was contemplating at least 
the probability of his marrying, he never did so. He 
recovered his serenity and much of his gay humor, 



INTRODUCTIOIT xvii 

but there seemed always present a tender and sacred 
memory. 

The History of New York was most cleverly advertised 
by notices in the newspapers, first of the disappearance 
of ^^a small, elderly gentleman dressed in an old black 
coat and cocked hat, by the name of Knickerbocker,'' 
and afterwards by paragraphs stating that an old gentle- 
man answering to the description had been seen travel- 
ling north on an Albany stage ; and that Knickerbocker 
went away owing his landlord and leaving behind a 
^'curious kind of written book,'' which would be sold to 
pay his bills if he did not return. Finally the announce- 
ment of the publication was made, and ever after the 
magic words ^^by Diedrich Knickerbocker" were sufficient 
to secure attention from the reading public. '^This was 
the germ of the whole Knickerbocker legend," says War- 
ner, ^^a fantastic creation which in a manner took the 
place of history and stamped upon the commercial 
metropolis of the New World the Knickerbocker name 
and character." The hidden humor of its advertisement 
and dedication to the New York Historical Society was 
not always discerned, and for a time Irving was under a 
cloud of social condemnation in certain circles for hold- 
ing the old Dutch inhabitants up to ridicule; but '^even 
the Dutch critics were disarmed before long by the 
absence of all malice in the gigantic humor of the com- 
position." The work came to be considered a master- 
piece of humorous writing. Sir Walter Scott, among the 
first to recognize its power, compared its style to Swift's ; 
and though it may not be always pleasing to modern 
taste, it has an assured place in literature. 

Again success failed to spur Irving on to new literary 
efforts. In social fife and some connection with his 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

brothers' hardware business the years passed. He be- 
came interested in the war with England, and was made 
aide and miUtary secretary to the governor of New York. 
He was on his way to Washington to apply for a com- 
mission in the regular army when the war was ended. 

In May, 1815, Irving went to England for a short 
visit to a brother living there. The illness of this brother, 
the bad condition of their mercantile affairs — which 
ended in failure — and then Irving 's literary work, kept 
him seventeen years abroad. Before the failure, there . 
were trips in Wales and England, which contributed to 
the store of interesting material which grew into later 
works. Afterwards, in 1818, Irving went to London 
determined to devote himself to literature. He was 
successful, and thereafter repaid in the most loving and 
deUcate manner the care and devotion which had been 
lavished upon him as the genius of the family. Warner 
says, ^^I know of nothing more admirable than the life- 
long relations of this talented and sincere family. '^ 

The Sketch Booh was sent to America for publication 
in May, 1819. It was immensely successful, '^The Wife" 
and ^^Rip Van Winkle '^ being the best of the sketches. 
Reprints were made in England without authority, so it 
was thought best to publish there also ; and soon Irving 
was received in the highest literary circles with enthu- 
siasm. The ^^ Literary Dinner'' in this volume of The 
Tales of a Traveller had a personal foundation in experi- 
ences of these times, ^^ whimsical and conventional" 
though it seems. ^'Irving's satire of both, authors and 
publishers has always the old-time Grub Street flavor, 
or at least the reminiscent tone, which is, by the way, 
quite characteristic of nearly everything that he wrote 
about England." I insert these words of Warner's as 



INTRODUCTION XIX 

keenly appreciative of Irving 's literary attitude. It seemed 
generally, without losing originality or individual charm, 
to be that of an observer, and an observer who has read. 

Irving went to Paris in the summer of 1820. His 
works increased in popularity — a fact w^hich is more 
significant of their worth when we remember that both 
Scott and Byron were at that time the ^^ idols of the 
Enghsh-reading world. ^^ 

The next year Bracehridge Hall was published, a sort 
of sketch book of English life in which was ^^Dolph 
Heyliger,^^ one of his best Dutch characterizations. Irving 
had returned to England, and had been staying with a 
sister in Birmingham. He had become something of an 
invalid on account of an eruptive disease which affected 
his ankles and troubled him more or less all the rest of 
his life. Trips were taken to different ^^cures,^' on one 
of which he met the Foster family, who became intimate 
friends and added much to the interest of this part of 
his life. After this he made a long visit in Paris again, 
where he was closely associated with Thomas Moore and 
his wife. 

The Tales of a Traveller appeared in 1824. They were 
tales of English, French, and Italian life, based on his 
own experiences and stories told by the way. In his 
own opinion, and in that of his best critics, it contained 
some of his best writing and had a charming spontaneity 
of expression. Nevertheless it was not so popular as 
former writings, and perhaps this was one reason why 
Irving turned his attention to more serious themes. He 
thought of writing his Life of Washington at that time; 
but in 1826 he settled in Madrid, his sole object at first 
being to make translations of some historical documents 
then appearing. But the fascination of the old chronicles 



XX INTRODUCTION 

and legends kindled the fires of his genius and resulted 
in The Life of Columbus, The Alhamhra, The Conquest of 
Granada^ Legends of the Conquest of Spain, and The Com- 
panions of Columbus. The books of ''mingled fables, 
sentiment, fact, and humor are after all the most en- 
during fruits of his residence in Spain, ^^ says Warner. 

The Life of Columbus appeared in 1828, and was im- 
mediately successful. ''It is open to the charge of too 
much rhetorical color here and there, and it is at times 
too diffuse; but its substantial accuracy is not ques- 
tioned, and the glow of the narrative springs legitimately 
from the romance of the theme. ^^ The sympathy and 
poetic imagination with which he entered into the char- 
acter of Columbus shows that he appreciated what 
Carlyle has so emphasized, the importance of vivid por- 
traiture in historical narrative. 

In 1829 Irving was appointed Secretary of Legation 
to the Court of Saint James, and though he was much 
interested in his literary projects at the time, he was 
persuaded by the urgency of his friends to accept, and 
evinced in the duties of the position that genuine pa- 
triotism w^hich always distinguished him, — though 
ignorant doubts and questionings concerning it have 
sometimes arisen because of his long stay abroad and his 
interest in other places. 

Though he played an active part in the best social and 
literary life of England, Irving was anxious to return 
home. In May of 1832 he came back to America. 

The reception accorded the "Dutch Herodotus, Died- 
rich Knickerbocker, '' as he was called in an after-dinner 
speech, proved the love and admiration of his country- 
men, not only in New York, but wherever civilization 
had extended its influence in America. 



INTRODUCTION Xxi 

His astonishment at the wonderful changes wrought in 
his absence led Irving to travel a great deal. A Tour on 
the Prairies, which is a fine description of hunting ad- 
venture, was partly the result of a journey into the 
Pawnee country on the Arkansas River. Astoria and 
The Adventures of Captain Bonneville are based on Ameri- 
can travel also. 

Although Irving had received large sums for his books, 
unremunerative investments and the fact that he was 
responsible for the support of two of his brothers and 
several nieces, made it necessary for him to write in- 
dustriously. Then, too, he longed for a rural home, for 
the purchase and support of which he was willing to 
give much. ^^ Sunny side, ^' a farm close to Tarrytown 
and Sleepy Hollow, and with a Httle stone cottage about 
a hundred years old on it, was purchased as a result of 
this ambition for a ^^ Roost,'' as he called it. The stone 
cottage was enlarged in such a way as to preserve its 
Dutch characteristics and keep it worthy of the memory 
of the Van Tassells, who had once inhabited it. The 
old weathercock from Holland was a delight always to 
Irving, and whichever way it turned, Sunnyside w^as 
always the centre of life and interest to a group of rela- 
tives who gave him tender care and appreciation, it 
seems, in the loving spirit with which he gave hospitality. 
It was a beautiful home where guests — many celebrated 
ones — were welcomed, and to which his thoughts always 
turned from every scene of distinction. 

Irving was not only eminent as a man of letters, but 
as one of the first citizens of the Repubhc. He declined 
such offers as the candidacy for mayor of New York 
and for member of Congress, and the honor of a seat in 
the President's Cabinet, on account of his dishke for 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

political life. His interest in an international copyright 
law was influential in its passage — to the great advan- 
tage of young American authors, though it affected him 
little personally. 

During the ten years after his return, he published, 
besides the books mentioned, Recollections of Abhotsford 
and Newstead Ahhey, Legends of the Conquest of Spain, 
and the papers in Wolfert's Roost. He also contributed 
to the Knickerbocker Magazine, and worked upon books 
which appeared later. 

One act of this period of his hfe throws light upon 
the simple nobility of his nature. Irving had always 
cherished the idea of writing the history of the conquest 
of Mexico. He had collected material for it, and was 
actually composing the opening chapters when some one 
interested in Mr. Prescott told him that the latter was 
contemplating the work. Though Irving 's work was 
quite advanced and Prescott had not yet begun, the 
former "renounced the glorious theme in such a manner 
that Prescott never suspected the pain and loss it cost 
him, nor the full extent of his own obligation. ^^ 

In 1842, at the instigation of Daniel Webster and 
with the most cordial approval of the President and the 
Senate, Irving was made ambassador to Spain. The 
nomination was a surprise to him, and not altogether an 
agreeable one. He accepted, as Warner says, because 
of '^the intended honor to his profession, the gratifying 
manner in which it came to him, his desire to please his 
friends, and the belief, which was a delusion, that diplo- 
matic life in Madrid would offer no serious interruption 
to his Life of Washington, in which he had just become 
engaged.'' 

Those were times of panic and excitement in Spain, 



INTRODUCTION XXlll 

and Irving was influential in his diplomatic relations. 
He was called to London for consultation about the 
Oregon Boundary dispute, and rendered valuable service 
there also. 

Irving, now more than sixty years old, longed for the 
simple life of his Sunnyside home, and in 1846 he re- 
turned. The Biography of Goldsmith^ Mahomet and his 
Successors, and The Life of Washington were the principal 
fruits of the thirteen years after his return. The Gold- 
smith is a work of wonderful sympathy and interpreta- 
tion of character, Mahomet had all the charm of his 
attractive style, and. The Life of Washington is a dignified 
portrait which is faithful to the character, and presents 
it as a real man of flesh and blood. Before his life ended, 
Irving had time to revise all his works and publish the 
complete set, from which he received over eighty-eight 
thousand dollars. 

Soon after the publication of the Washington, and 
yet not until he had received the approval of those literary 
men whose knowledge of the Revolution gave them the 
best right to judge of the value of his work, Irving's 
serene life came to an end at Sunnyside on the 28th 
of November, 1859. 

When Irving appeared before the doctors at Oxford 
in 1830 to take the degree of D.C.L., the undergraduates 
greeted him with shouts of ^^Diedrich Knickerbocker!" 
" Ichabod Crane ! " " Rip Van Winkle ! " He would not, 
in all likelihood, have been called to receive the degree 
conferred that day had he not written some grave, serious 
work of scholarship such as The Life of Columbus; and 
yet those names shouted at him by the young enthu- 
siasts are perhaps the real touchstones of his fame, — 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

stones whose brillia4icy, if we may change the figure, 
has been enhanced and made more effective by the 
setting provided by a mind which could prove its more 
serious powers. As Warner says, however, '^All the 
learning of Oxford and Cambridge together would not 
enable a man to draw the whimsical portrait of Ichabod 
Crane, or to outline the fascinating legend of Rip Van 
Winkle : while Europe was full of scholars of more learn- 
ing than Irving, and writers of equal skill in narrative, 
who might have told the story of Columbus as well/' 
His great gift was a whimsical sense of humor, modified 
and complemented by sentiment. He used the material 
of life about him so as to raise the whole into a realm 
of the imagination with the rosy light of sentiment all 
about it. 

And the form into which Irving cast his most char- 
acteristic work was almost a new literary form. Narra- 
tive essays or short stories of humor and pathos became 
quite the fashion. The Knickerbocker legend was the 
greatest achievement of Irving; and the stories of The 
Money Diggers, of Wolfert Wehher, and Kidd the Pirate 
are phases of that legend which form, perhaps, the most 
interesting part of The Tales of a Traveller, though such 
narratives as The Adventure of my Uncle, the interesting 
tales of the banditti, and the vivid pictures of life in 
Buckthorne make one hesitate at comparison. 

Irving's reputation rests upon his purely literary skill; 
for out of that the genius of his humor and sentiment 
created its fitting body. That he found ^^ charm in the 
prosaic and materialistic conditions of the New World 
as well as in the tradition-laden atmosphere of the Old, 
is evidence that he possessed genius of a refined and 
subtle quality, if not of the most robust order.'' We do 



INTRODUCTION XXV 

not find in Irving evidences of the greatest intellectual 
force such as is shown, for instance, in the writings of 
Emerson and Carlyle. He seems to be writing from the 
calm position of an observer, and in something of a 
retrospective mood, rather than as one who is in the 
thick of the battle of life. 

His method was sympathetic, and one felt, rather than 
thought out analytically, the effect he desired to pro- 
duce. Tone and color were given by light touches of 
comparison and suggestion, — often a most illuminating 
flash in a single appropriate allusion : or a humorous 
suggestion by using a word in some unusual sense, which 
is nevertheless quite justified by its derivation or strict 
meaning. 

One always finds Irving in full sympathy with the 
theme of his writing, whether it be of Spanish, English, 
Italian, or American life. The local color is invariably 
true, and yet it is always pervaded by the literary charm 
which was distinctively Irving ^s style — a style clear and 
melodious as well as forceful, elegant, and finished, and 
always characterized by sense of literary form and re- 
markable felicity of metaphor. It is simple in structure, 
but most exacting in the demand it makes upon linguistic 
appreciation. Few authors require for their complete 
appreciation a more accurate knowledge of word values. 

There is a moral soundness in Irving — a winning 
strain of goodness — which gains the love of his readers 
as he gained the love of his family and many friends, 
such friends as Moore, Thackeray, Byron, and Scott, as 
well as less distinguished people. It was an element of 
his art which seemed to spring directly from a sound 
nature. 

"We know well enough/' says Warner, "that the 



XXVI INTRODUCTION 

great author of The Newcomes and the great author of 
The Heart of Midlothian recognized the abiding value in 
Hterature of integrity, sincerity, purity, charity, faith. 
These are beneficences, and Irving 's hterature is a benefi- 
cent hterature. The author loved good women and 
little children and a pure life ; he had faith in his fellow- 
men, a kindly sympathy with the lowest, without any 
subservience to the highest ; he retained a belief in the 
possibility of chivalrous actions, and did not care to 
envelop them in a cynical suspicion. He was an author 
still capable of an enthusiasm. His books are whole- 
some, full of sweetness and charm, of humor without any 
sting, of amusement without any stain; and their more 
solid qualities are marred by neither pedantry nor pre- 
tension." 

If this quotation might lure its readers to the fas- 
cinating pages of Warner ^s Irving in the American 
Men of Letters, where one finds the nature of Irving and 
all of his' activities set in accurate relations with his 
time, his contemporaries, and the social conditions of the 
countries in which he lived,, it would be indeed a fitting 
close for this sketch. 



TO TEACHERS 

Few teachers to-day need suggestions as to profitable 
ways of dealing with such literature as they present to 
their classes, and yet most of us, perhaps, welcome the 
knowledge and opinions of their fellow-workers as to the 
value of this or that material for certain purposes. 

The aims of English teaching are so many, its 
opportunities for culture so broad, that one must en- 
deavor to keep well in hand a leash of varied purposes, 
and to see that they run with some conformable reference 
to each other. Yet all these purposes must have the 
same double end in view, — to arouse clear thoughts and 
to cultivate the ability to express them. That is the 
English teacher ^s business. But what a world of dif- 
ference it may make to the ethical and social being of 
a young soul if the thoughts which are presented to him 
for that imitation which philosophers frOm Plato to 
Professor Royce have deemed necessary, are such as will 
raise and enrich the tone of his living ! That is every 
teacher's business. 

Clear and forceful thinking springs from appreciation 
of clear and forceful thoughts. In new conditions for 
thinking we adapt and use known methods of thought, — 
not slavishly or dully following a model, not even con- 
scious of any, but using vitally a vital force discovered 
in appreciation of the thoughts of others just as truly 

xxvii 



XXVlll INTRODUCTION 

and naturally as the power of thought is developed by- 
reactions to the more ordinary forces of life. Accurate 
oral reading, questions and discussions based on the 
thought in the text but leading a little beyond it through 
comparisons, combinations, etc., will strengthen the 
ability to think. 

Clear and fitting expression is the result of knowledge 
of word values, of phrasings, and of sentence relations, — 
of the idiom of a language. That knowledge may be 
acquired to a certain extent unconsciously, perhaps it is 
well for the pupil to be largely unconscious of the process 
— but the teacher cannot afford to be so. He should 
aid the process of acquiring a forceful vocabulary by 
providing suitable opportunities to use new stores of 
language, so that they may become fixed in the memory. 
What wonderful life may be given to his power of ex- 
pression if that which he reads is couched in vivid and 
convincing phrase ! 

These tales are instinct with life. Thoughts bearing 
directly on instinctive acts of honor and courage, for in- 
stance, can be emphasized in a dozen ways. Questions 
about the aims and purposes of the banditti and of the 
Englishmen may lead to interesting talks in which vital 
principles of life, as well as of oral and written expres- 
sion, may be emphasized. The half-humorous apprecia- 
tion of the dainty Italian bride Irving couches in quite 
different terms from the description of the lovable, ab- 
sorbed antiquary, and their acquisition may become 
spontaneously the pupil's own without interfering with 
his pleasure in the images, if he can be brought to speak 
or write of them after his interest has been aroused. 

Besides the direct training in thinking and expression, 
then, which is brought about by discussion, questions. 



INTROBVCTION XXIX 

comparisons, etc., and which is the technical duty of the 
English teacher, there is the indirect ethical and broadly 
religious influence without which teaching is hke a statue 
— without a soul. The Tales of a Traveller are full of 
opportunities for developments in all three of these 
directions. It would be neither wise nor attractive to 
study all sketches in the same manner — nor all parts of 
one. In some cases the impression should be left 
entirely without comment except such as is given 
by expressive oral reading. In others analysis is profit- 
able. The methods of developing thought by full appre- 
ciation of thoughts can scarcely be outlined, since they 
must be spontaneous, sympathetic, and like a kindling 
flame, which consumes or smelts or warms into life, as 
the occasion may demand. 

The following suggestions are not offered as novelties, 
but as useful exercises suited to The Tales. 

Analyze some scene, such as Buckthorne^s battle with 
Harlequin, into the elements of action, description, and 
explanation which make it effective. 

Dramatize some story, ^'^ The Adventure of the EngHsh- 
man,'' for example. 

Write a description of a character whose traits have 
been portrayed largely by actions. 

Contrast two characters, Wolfert Webber and the 
'^High German Doctor,^' for instance. 

Exercise the imagination by filling out the picture of 
a character which is only slightly suggested, like that of 
the "inquisitive gentleman.'' 

Study some short sketch, such as "Notoriety,'' for 
structural characteristics — unity, coherence, paragraph- 
ing, etc. 



XXX INTRODUCTION 

Collect as many statements as possible about some 
place, and combine them into a connected description. 

Comment on humorous suggestions in names, in words 
used in an unusual manner, and in such double meanings 
as are in Wolfert Webber^s motto, '^AUes Kopf/' 

Follow out carefully extended metaphors, such as the 
one which presents Wolfert 's digging in his garden as if 
it were a war on the cabbages, and note the words which 
give the effect. 

Select the most significant words in an image-making 
sentence or in a narrative one. 

Observe all old and unusual forms of words, such as 
^^ digged." 

Pupils who study Latin may select words derived from 
that language and comment on their effectiveness. 

Comment on the appropriateness of Saxon words 
used so freely in scenes of strong passion and in homely 
incidents, after the pupils know something of the sources 
of our language. 

Make lists of unusual and effective adjectives and ad- 
verbs as they occur. 

Note all effective comparisons. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



TO THE READER 

Worthy and dear reader ! — Hast thou ever been 
waylaid in the midst of a pleasant tour by some treach- 
erous malady; thy heels tripped up,° and thou left 
to count the tedious minutes as they passed, in the soli- 
tude of an inn-chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be s 
able to pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the course 
of my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, and laid 
up by indisposition in this old frontier town of Mentz.° 
I have worn out every source of amusement. I know 
the sound of every clock that strikes, and bell that rings, lo 
in the place. I know to a second when to listen for the 
first tap of the Prussian drum, as it summons the garrison 
to parade, or at what hour to expect the distant sound of 
the Austrian military band. All these have grown weari- 
some to me; and even the well-known step of my doctor, 15 
as he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the creak 
of his shoes,° no longer affords an agreeable interruption 
to the monotony of my apartment. 

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours 
by studying German under the tuition of mine host^s 20 
pretty little daughter, Katrine; but I soon found even 
German had not power to charm a languid ear, and that 
the conjugating of ich liebe might be powerless, however 
rosy the lips which uttered it. 

I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I 25 
turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with 

B 1 



2 TO THE READER 

distaste. ^'Well, then/' said I at length, in despair, 
**if I cannot read a book, I will write one/' Never was 
there a more lucky idea; it at once gave me occupation 
and amusement. The writing of a book was considered 
5 in old times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch 
that the most trifling lucubration^ was denominated a 
'^work,'' and the world talked with awe and reverence of 
'Hhe labors of the learned.'' These matters are better 
understood nowadays. 

lo Thanks to the improvements in all kinds of manufac- 
tures, the art of book-making has been made familiar to 
the meanest capacity. Everybody is an author. The 
scribbling of a quarto^ is the mere pastime of the idle; 
the young gentleman throws off his brace of duodecimos 

15 in the intervals of the sporting season, and the young lady 
produces her set of volumes with the same facility that 
her great-grandmother worked a set of chair-bottoms. 

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, 
the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it 

20 was no difficult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and 
cast about, in my recollection, for those floating materials 
which a man naturally collects in travelling; and here 
I have arranged them in this little work. 

As I know this to be a story-telling and a story-reading 

25 age, and that the world is fond of being taught by apo- 
logue,*^ I have digested the instruction I would convey 
into a number of tales. They may not possess the power 
of amusement which the tales told by many of my con- 
temporaries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound 

30 moral which each of them contains. This may not be 
apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out 
in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle altera- 
tives,° not by violent doses; indeed, the patient should 



TO THE READER 3 

never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt 
this much from experience under the hands of the worthy 
Hippocrates^ of Mentz. 

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which 
carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; 5 
they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the 
contrary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and 
disguised it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so 
that while the simple reader is listening with open mouth 
to a ghost or a love story, he may have a bolus of sound lo 
morality popped down his throat, and be never the wiser 
for the fraud. 

As the public is apt to be curious about the sources 
whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may 
know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, that 15 
the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the latter 
part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as 
existing somewhere in French; and, indeed, I have been 
told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has been 
founded on it by an English writer; but I have never met 20 
with either the former or the latter in print. Some of 
the circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious 
Picture, and in the Story of the Young Italian, are vague 
recollections of anecdotes related to me some years since; 
but from what source derived, I do not know. The Ad- 25 
venture of the Young Painter among the banditti is taken 
almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript. 

As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed 
to my tales generally, I can make but one observation: 
I am an old traveller ; I have read somewhat, heard and 30 
seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled 
therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In travel- 
ling, these heterogeneous matters have become shaken 



4 TO THE READER 

up in my mind, as the articles are apt to be in an ill- 
packed travelling-trunk; so that when I attempt to draw 
forth a fact, I cannot determine whether I have read, 
heard, or dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how 
5 much to believe of my own stories. 

These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader, 
with good appetite; and, above all, with good humor, to 
what is here set before thee. If the tales I have furnished 
should prove to be bad, they will at least be found short; 
lo so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme. 
^'Variety is charming,'^ as some poet observes. 

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be 
from bad to worse! As I have often found in travelling 
in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's 
IS position, and be bruised in a new place. 

Ever thine, 

Geoffrey Crayon.*^ 

Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
ci'devant° Hotel de Paris, 

Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 



PART FIRST 

STRANGE STORIES 

By a Nervous Gentleman"^ 



I'll tell you more, there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword, 

A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun. 

And letters of marf^ in's° mouth from the Duke of Florence. 

Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony. — I do confess it. 

Do you think I'd tell you truths ? 

— Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 



PART FIRST 
STRANGE STORIES 

. THE GREAT UNKNOWN^ 

The following adventures were related to me by the 
same nervous gentleman who told me the romantic tale 
of the Stout Gentleman, published in Bracehridge Hall, 
It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that 
story to have been told to me, and described the very 5 
person who told it, still it has been received as an ad- 
venture that happened to myself. Now I protest I never 
met with any adventure of the kind. I should not have 
grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author 
of Waverley, in an introduction to his novel of Peveril 10 
of the Peakj that he was himself the stout gentleman 
alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by 
questions and letters from gentlemen, and particularly 
from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of 
the Great Unknown. ^5 

Now all this is extremely tantahzing. It is like being 
congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a 
blank; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the 
public to penetrate the mystery of that very singular 
personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, 20 
without any one being able to tell whence it comes. 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man 

7 



8 THE GREAT UNKNOWN 

of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been 
excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about 
in his neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage. 
Insomuch, that he has become a character of considerable 
5 notoriety in two or three country towns, and has been 
repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking 
parties, ° for no other reason than that of being ^Hhe 
gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author of WaverleyJ* 
Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nervous 

lo as ever since he has discovered, on such good authority, 
who the stout gentleman was; and will never forgive 
himself for not having made a more resolute effort to get 
a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to 
call up a recollection of what he saw of that portly per- 

issonage; and has ever since kept a curious eye on all 
gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, whom he 
has seen getting into stage-coaches. All in vain! The 
features he had caught a glimpse of seem common to the 
whole race of stout gentlemen, and the Great Unknown 

20 remains as great an unknown as ever. 

Having premised these circumstances, I will now let 
the nervous gentleman proceed with his stories. 



THE HUNTING-DINNER 

I WAS once at a hunting-dinner, given by a worthy 
fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept bachelor^s hall in 
jovial style in an ancient rook-haunted family-mansion, 
in one of the middle counties. He had been a devoted 
admirer of the fair sex in his younger days ; but, having 5 
travelled much, studied the sex in various countries with 
distinguished success, and returned home profoundly 
instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and a 
perfect master of the art of pleasing, had the mortifica- 
tion of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, who 10 
was scarcely versed in the accidence^ of love. 

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an 
incredible defeat; retired from the world in disgust; 
put himself under the government of his housekeeper; 
and took to fox-hunting like a perfect Nimrod.° What- 15 
ever poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow 
out of love as he grows old; and a pack of fox-hounds 
may chase out of his heart even the memory of a board- 
ing-school goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, 
as merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a 20 
hound ; and the love he had once felt for one woman had 
spread itself over the whole sex, so that there was not a 
pretty face in the whole country round but came in for a 
share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour; for our host 25 



10 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

having no ladies in his household to summon us to the 
drawing-room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor 
sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy, the tea-kettle. ° 
The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of ro- 
5 bustious° fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient 
antlers° shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the 
wine and the wassail of mine host began to operate upon 
bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The choice 
spirits which flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, 

lo sparkled for a time,then gradually went out one after another, 
or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. 
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so 
bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep ; and none kept 
on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers, 

15 who, like short-legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the 
bottom of conversation, but are sure to be in at the 
death. ° Even these at length subsided into silence ; and 
scarcely any thing was heard but the nasal communica- 
tions of two or three veteran masticators, who having 

20 been silent while awake, were indemnifying the company 
in their sleep. 

At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the 
cedar-parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. 
Every one awoke marvellously renovated, and while 

25 sipping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet ^s old- 
fashioned hereditary china, ° began to think of departing 
for their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty 
arose. While we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy 
winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven 

30 by such bitter blasts of wind, that they threatened to 
penetrate to the very bone. 

''It's all in vain,'' said our hospitable host, 'Ho think 
of putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, 



THE HUNTING-DINNER 11 

gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, 
and will have your quarters prepared accordingly/' 

The unruly weather, which became more and more 
tempestuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unan- 
swerable. The only question was, whether such an 5 
unexpected accession of company to an already crowded 
house would not put the housekeeper to her trumps^ to 
accommodate them. 

^^ Pshaw,'' cried mine host; ^^did you ever know a 
bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to accom- 10 
modate twice as many as it could hold ? " So, out of a 
good-humored pique, the housekeeper was summoned to 
a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared in 
her gala suit of faded brocade, ° which rustled with flurry 
and agitation; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was 15 
a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with 
bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. 
There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish 
points about lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners, 
and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment. A 20 
bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emergencies; 
so, after much worrying to and fro, and divers consulta- 
tions about the red-room, and the blue-room, and the 
chintz-room, ° and the damask-room, and the little room 
with the bow-window, the matter was finally arranged. 25 

When all this was done we were once more summoned 
to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that 
had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the 
refreshment and consultation of the cedar-parlor, ° was 
sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to en- 30 
gender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast 
had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue of dinner, 
consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a 



12 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those 
light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure sound 
sleep and heavy snoring. ° 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one^s 
5 wit ; and a great deal of excellent humor was expended 
upon the perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper, 
by certain married gentlemen of the company, who con- 
sidered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor ^s 
establishment. From this the banter turned as to what 
lo quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted 
in so antiquated a mansion. 

^^By my soul,'' said an Irish captain of dragoons, one 
of the most merry and boisterous of the party, ^^by my 
soul, but I should not be surprised if some of those good- 
15 looking gentle-folks that hang along the walls should walk 
about the rooms of this stormy night; or, if I should find 
the ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies turning 
into my bed in mistake for her grave in the churchyard.'' 

^^Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet- 
20 faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. ° 

I had remarked this last personage during dinner-time 
for one of those incessant questioners, who have a craving, 
unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed 
satisfied with the whole of a story; never laughed when 
25 others laughed; but always put the joke to the question. 
He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered 
himself to get more out of the shell. '^Do you believe 
in ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

^' Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. ^'I 
30 was brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had a 
Benshee° in our own family, honey." 

^^A Benshee, and what's that?" cried the questioner. 

''Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real 



THE HUNTINQ-DINNEB, 13 

Milesian® families, and waits at their window to let them 
know when some of them are to die/^ 

^^A mighty pleasant piece of information!^' cried an 
elderly gentleman with a knowing look, and with a 
flexible nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when 5 
he wished to be waggish. 

"By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of 
distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof 
that one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, 
now we are talking of ghosts, there never was a house or 10 
a night better fitted for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir 
John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to 
put a guest in ? " 

"Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might ac- 
commodate you even on that point." 15 

"Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some 
dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone portraits, that 
stare dismally at one; and about which the housekeeper 
has a power of delightful stories of love and murder. And 
then, a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and 20 
a spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains at mid- 
night " 

"In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the 
table, "you put me in mind of an anecdote " 

"Oh, a ghost story! a ghost story!" was vociferated 25 
round the board, every one edging his chair a little nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now turned 
upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side 
of whose face was no match for the other. The eyelid 
drooped and hung down like an unhinged window-shutter. 3c 
Indeed, the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and 
seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted. 
I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost stories. 



14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

' There was a universal demand for the tale. 

^^Nay/^ said the old gentleman, ^^it^s a mere anecdote, 
and a very commonplace one; but such as it is you shall 
have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as 
5 having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to 
meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of 
others much more singular. '^ 

^^What kind of a man was your uncle ?^^ said the ques- 
tioning gentleman, 
lo '^Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a 
great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures.'' 

"Pray, how old might he have been when that hap- 
pened ? '' 

"When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the 
15 flexible nose, impatiently. "Egad, you have not given 
any thing a chance to happen. Come, never mind our 
uncle's age; let us have his adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, 
the old gentleman with the haunted head° proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 

Many years since, some time before the French Revo- 
lution, ° my uncle passed several months at Paris. 
The English and French were on better terms in those 
days than at present, and mingled cordially in society. 
The English went abroad to spend money then, and the 5 
French were always ready to help them : they go abroad 
to save money at present, ° and that they can do without 
French assistance. Perhaps the travelling English were 
fewer and choicer than at present, when the whole nation 
has broke loose and inundated the continent. At any 10 
rate, they circulated more readily and currently in for- 
eign society, and my uncle, during his residence in Paris, 
made many very intimate acquaintances among the 
French noblesse. ° 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in 15 
the winter time in that part of Normandy called the 
Pays de Caux,° when, as evening was closing in, he per- 
ceived the turrets of an ancient chateau® rising out of 
the trees of its walled park; each turret with its high 
conical roof of gray slate, like a candle with an extin- 20 
guisher on it. 

^^To whom does that chateau belong, friend?'^ cried 
my uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, ° who, with tre- 
mendous jack-boots and cocked hat, was floundering on 
before him. 25 

15 



16 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

''To Monseigneur the Marquis de /' said the 

postilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my 
uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble name 
pronounced. 
5 My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular 
friend in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see 
him at his paternal chateau. My uncle was an old traveller, 
one who knew well how to turn things to account. He 
revolved for a few moments in his mind, how agreeable 

lo it would be to his friend the Marquis to be surprised in 
this sociable way by a pop visit°; and how much more 
agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, 
and have a relish of the Marquis^ well-known kitchen, 
and a smack ° of his superior champagne and burgundy, 

15 rather than put up with the miserable lodgment and 
miserable fare of a provincial inn. In a few minutes, 
therefore, the meagre postilion was cracking his whip 
like a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, up the long, 
straight avenue that led to the chateau. 

20 You have no doubt all seen French chateaux, as every- 
body travels in France nowadays. This was one of the 
oldest ; standing naked and alone in the midst of a desert 
of gravel walks and cold stone terraces; with a cold- 
looking, formal garden, cut into angles and rhomboids; 

25 and a cold, leafless park, divided geometrically by straight 
alleys; and two or three cold-looking noiseless statues; 
and fountains^ spouting cold water enough to make one^s 
teeth chatter. At least such was the feeling they im- 
parted on the wintry day of my uncle's visit; though, in 

30 hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was glare enough 
to scorch one's eyes out. 

The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more 
and more intense the nearer they approached, fright- 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 17 

ened a flight of pigeons out of a dove-cot, and rooks out 
of the roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the 
chateau, with the Marquis at their head. He was en- 
chanted to see my uncle, for his chateau, like the house 
of our worthy host,° had not many more guests at the 5 
time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle 
on the cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him 
into the castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of the house with the 
urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his 10 
old family chateau, for part of it was extremely old. 
There was a tower and chapel which had been built 
almost before the memory of man; but the rest was 
more modern, the castle having been nearly demolished 
during the wars of the league. ° The Marquis dwelt upon 15 
this event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to 
entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry the Fourth, ° 
for having thought his paternal mansion worth battering 
down. He had many stories to tell of the prowess of his 
ancestors ; and several skullcaps, helmets, and cross- 20 
bows,° and divers huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, 
which had been worn by the leaguers. Above all, there 
was a two-handed sword, which he could hardly wield, 
but which he displayed, as a proof that there had been 
giants in his family. 25 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such 
great warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages 
and brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then 
at the little Marquis, with his spindle-shanks, and his 
sallow lantern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered 30 
ear-locks, ° or atles de pigeon, that seemed ready to fly 
away with it, you could hardly believe him to be of the 
same race. But when you looked at the eyes that sparkled 



18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

out like a beetle ^s from each side of his hooked nose, you 
saw at once that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his 
forefathers. In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, 
however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and 
5 grows more inflammable, as the earthly particles dimin- 
ish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery-hearted 
French dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable giant. ° 

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one 
of the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head 

lo no more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes 
flashed from the bottom of the iron cavern with the 
brilliancy of carbuncles ° ; and when he poised the ponder- 
ous two-handed sword of his ancestors, you would have 
thought you saw the doughty little David wielding the 

1 5 sword of Goliath, which was unto him like a weaver's beam.° 
However, gentlemen, ° I am dwelling too long on this 
description of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must 
excuse me ; he was an old friend of my uncle ; and when- 
ever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talk- 

2o ing a great deal about his host. Poor little Marquis ! 
He was one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made 
such a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their 
sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries,° against the 
irruption^ of the mob on the sad tenth of August. ° He 

25 displayed the valor of a preux French chevalier ° to the 
last, flourishing feebly his little court-sword with a ga-ga° ! 
in face of a whole legion of sans-culoties^ ; but was pinned 
to the wall like a butterfly, by the pike of a poissardey^ 
and his heroic soul was borne up to heaven on his atles 

30 de pigeon. ° 

But all this has nothing to do with my story. To the 
point, then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the 
night, my uncle was shown to his room in a veritable old 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 19 

tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in 
ancient times been the donjon° or strong-hold; of course 
the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had 
put him there, however, because he knew him to be a 
traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also be- 5 
cause the better apartments were already occupied. In- 
deed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by 
mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited 
them, all of whom were, in some way or other, connected 
with the family. If you would take his word for it, John 10 
Baliol,° or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of 
chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the success 
of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle of Bannock- 
burn. ° And when he added that the Duke de Guise° 
had slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on 15 
being honored with such distinguished quarters. 

The night was shrewd and windy, and the chamber 
none of the warmest. An old long-faced, long-bodied 
servant, in quaint livery, w^ho attended upon my uncle, 
threw down an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave 20 
a queer look about the room, and then wished him hon 
repos with a grimace and a shrug that would have been 
suspicious from any other than an old French servant. 

The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to 
strike any one who had read romances with apprehension 25 
and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, 
and had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely en- 
larged, as well as the extreme thickness of the walls would 
permit; and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every 
breeze. You would have thought, on a windy night, 30 
some of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking 
about the apartment in their huge boots and rattling 
spurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like ^ truQ FreBch 



20 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

door, would stand ajar in spite of every reason and effort 
to the contrary, opened upon a long dark corridor, that 
led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for 
ghosts to air themselves in, when they turned out of their 
5 graves at midnight. The wind would spring up into a 
hoarse murmur through this passage, and creak the door 
to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were balancing in its 
mind whether to come in or not. In a word, it was pre- 
cisely the kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if 

lo ghost there were in the chateau, would single out for its 
favorite lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet 
with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. 
He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. 

15 Not that he apprehended any thing, for he was too old 
a traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment; 
but the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the 
wind howled about the old turret pretty much as it does 
round this old mansion at this moment, ° and the breeze 

20 from the long dark corridor came in as damp and chilly 
as if from a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could 
not close the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, 
which soon sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed 
chimney that illumined the whole chamber, and made 

25 the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall look like a 
long-legged giant. My uncle now clambered on the top 
of the half-score of mattresses which form a French bed, 
and which stood in a deep recess; then tucking himself 
snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin in the bed- 

30 clothes, he lay looking into the fire, and listening to the 
wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come over 
his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he 
fell asleep. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 21 

He had not taken above half of his first nap when he 
was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret 
over his chamber, which struck midnight. It was just 
such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, 
dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 5 
uncle thought it would never have done. He counted 
and counted till he was confident he counted thirteen, 
and then it stopped. 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last fagot^ 
was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which 10 
now and then lengthened up into httle white gleams. 
My uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap 
drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already 
wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene 
with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coli-is 
seum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in London, and 
all the farrago ° of noted places with which the brain 
of a traveller is crammed, — in a word, he was just 
falling asleep. 

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, 20 
slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have 
often heard him say himself, was a man not easily fright- 
ened. So he lay quiet, supposing this some other guest, 
or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, how- 
ever, approached the door; the door gently opened, — 25 
whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my 
uncle could not distinguish ; a figure all in white glided in. 
It was a female, tall and stately, and of a commanding air. 
Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and 
sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fireplace, 30 
without regarding my uncle, who raised his nightcap^ 
with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She remained 
for some time standing by the fire, which, flashing up at 



22 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

intervals, cast blue and white gleams of light, that enabled 
my uncle to remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still 
more so by the bluish light of the fire. It possessed 
5 beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. 
There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of one 
whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue; for there 
was still the predominating air of proud, unconquerable 
resolution. Such at least was the opinion formed by my 

lo uncle, and he considered himself a great physiognomist. 

The figure remained, as I said for some time by the fire, 

putting out first one hand, then the other; then each 

foot alternately, as if warming itself; for your ghosts, 

if ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My uncle, 

1 5 furthermore remarked that it wore high-heeled shoes, 
after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, 
that sparkled as though they were alive. At length the 
figure turned gently round, casting a glassy look about 
the apartment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made 

2o his blood run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his 
bones. It ^then stretched its arms towards heaven, 
clasped its hands, and wringing them in a supplicating 
manner, glided slowly out of the room. 

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visita- 

2 5tion, for (as he remarked when he told me the story) 
though a man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection, 
and did not reject a thing because it was out of the regular 
course of events. However, being, as I have before said, 
a great traveller, and accustomed to strange- adventures, 

30 he drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his 
back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high over his 
shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awak- 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 23 

ened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned 
round, and beheld the old French servant, with his ear- 
locks in tight buckles on each side of a long lantern face, 
on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. 
He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thousand 5 
pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the morning was 
considerably advanced. While my uncle was dressing he 
called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. 
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the 
habit of rambUng about this part of the chateau at night. 10 
The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as his head, 
laid one hand on his bosom, threw open the other with 
every finger extended, made a most whimsical grimace 
which he meant to be complimentary, and replied that 
it was not for him to know any thing of les honnes fortunes 15 
of Monsieur. 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be 
learned in this quarter. After breakfast he was walking 
with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the 
chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken saloons, 20 
amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until they 
came to a long picture-gallery, containing many portraits, 
some in oil and some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, 
who had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime.^ 25 
There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one 
in France, which was not, in some way or other, connected 
with his house. My uncle stood listening with inward 
impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on 
the other, as the little Marquis descanted, ° with his usual 30 
fire and vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors, 
whose portraits hung along the wall; from the martial 
deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and 



24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair smiling 
faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue 
silk coats and breeches ; — not forgetting the conquests 
of the lovely shepherdesses, with hooped petticoats, and 
5 waists no thicker than an hour-glass, who appeared ruling 
over their sheep and their swains, with dainty crooks 
decorated with fluttering ribbons. 

In the midst of his friend ^s discourse, my uncle was 
startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very 

lo counterpart of his visitor of the preceding night. 

^^ Me thinks,^' said he, pointing to it, ^'I have seen the 
original of this portrait.'' 

^' Pardonnez moi/^ ° repKed the Marquis poHtely, 'Hhat 
can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hun- 

15 dred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longue- 
ville, who figured during the minority of Louis the 
Fourteenth.'' 

'^And was there any thing remarkable in her history?" 
Never was question more unlucky. The httle Marquis 

2o immediately threw himself into the attitude of a man 
about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled, 
upon himself the whole history of the civil war of the 
Fronde, ° in which the beautiful Duchess had played 
so distinguished a part. Turenne,° Coligni,° Mazarin,° 

25 were called up from their graves to grace his narration; 
nor were the affairs of the Barricadoes,° nor the chivalry 
of the Port Cocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish 
himself a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his 
merciless memory, when suddenly the little, man's rec- 

3oollections took a more interesting turn. He was re- 
lating the imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville^ 
with the Princes Conde° and Conti° in the chateau of 
Vincennes,° and the ineffectual .efforts of the Duchess to 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 25 

rouse the sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come 
to that part where she was invested by the royal forces 
in the Castle of Dieppe. ° 

'^The spirit of the Duchess/' proceeded the Marquis, 
"rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so deli- 5 
cate and beautiful a being buffet so resolutely with hard- 
ships. She determined on a desperate means of escape. 
You may have seen the chateau in which she was mewed 
up, — an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the 
knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town of Dieppe. 10 
One dark unruly night she issued secretly out of a small 
postern° gate of the castle, which the enemy had neg- 
lected to guard. The postern gate is there to this very 
day; opening upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse® 
between the castle and the brow of the hill. She was 15 
followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and 
some gallant cavaliers, who still remained faithful to her 
fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port about two 
leagues distant, where she had previously provided a 
vessel for her escape in case of emergency. 20 

"The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform 
the distance on foot. When they arrived at the port the 
wind was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel 
anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on 
board but by a fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a 25 
cockle-shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess deter- 
mined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeavored to 
dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore, 
and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. She 
had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. 30 
Such was the violence of the wind and waves that he 
faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden 
fall into the sea. 



26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

"The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through 
her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, 
she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered 
strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The 
5 storm, however, had by this time become so violent as 
to set all efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be dis- 
covered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, 
she procured horses, mounted with her female attendants, 
en croupe,^ behind the gallant gentlemen who accom- 

lo panied her, and scoured the country to seek some tempo- 
rary asylum. 

"While the Duchess,^' continued the Marquis, laying 
his forefinger on my nucleus breast to arouse his flagging 
attention, — "while the Duchess, poor lady, was wan- 

1 5 dering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she 
arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused some un- 
easiness; for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of 
night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled 
times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to 

2o occasion alarm. 

"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, ° armed to the 
teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the name of the 
visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. The household 
turned out with flambeaux° to receive her, and never did 

25 torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained 
band than came tramping into the court. Such pale, 
careworn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor 
Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind a 
cavalier ; while the half-drenched, half-drowsy pages and 

30 attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with 
sleep and fatigue. 

"The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by 
my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the cha- 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 27 

teau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself 
and her train; and every spit° and stew-pan was put in 
requisition to prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers. 

'^She had a right to our hospitalities/^ continued the 
Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of state- 5 
liness, ^^for she was related to our family. 1^11 tell you 
how it was. Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of 
Conde '' 

'^But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?'' 
said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of 10 
getting involved in one of the Marquis' genealogical 
discussions. 

^^Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apart- 
ment you occupied last night, which at that time was a 
kind of state-apartment. Her followers were quartered 15 
in the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor, 
and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up 
and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had 
announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel 
or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow ; 20 
and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his 
deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable 
of defending the castle with his single arm. 

^^ It was a rough, rude night ; about this time of the year 
— apropos ! — now I think of it, last night was the an- 25 
niversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise 
date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. 
There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." 
Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather 
about his bushy eyebrows. ^' There is a tradition — 30 
that a strange occurrence took place that night. A 
strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence — " Here 
he checked himself, and paused. 



28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Did it relate to that lady ? '' inquired my uncle, eagerly. 

'^It was past the hour of midnight/' resumed the Mar- 
quis, — ''when the whole chateau '^ Here he paused 

again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. 
5 "Excuse me/' said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking 
his sallow visage. ''There are some circumstances con- 
nected with our family history which I do not like to 
relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes 
among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs 
lo wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the canaille^ — 
poor lady ! — But I have a little family pride, that — ex- 
cuse me — we will change the subject, if you please '' 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and 
magnificent introduction had led him to expect something 
15 wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of 
avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by 
a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, 
being a traveller in quest of information, he considered it 
his duty to inquire into every thing. 
20 The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 

"Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, "whatever 
you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with sur- 
prise. 
25 "She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." 

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and a 
smile; taking this no doubt for an awkward piece of 
English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be 
charmed with. 
30 My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the 
whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through 
with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened 
in his hand. When the story was finished^ he tapped on 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 29 

the lid of his box deUberately, took a long, sonorous pinch 

of snuff 

"Bah !'' said the Marquis, and walked towards the other 
end of the gallery. 

Here the narrator paused. The company waited for 5 
some time for him to resume his narration; but he con- 
tinued silent. 

"Well,'' said the inquisitive gentleman, — "and what 
did your uncle say then ? " 

"Nothing,'' replied the other. 10 

"And what did the Marquis say farther?" 

"Nothing." 

"And is that all?" 

"That is all," ° said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 

"I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the 15 
waggish nose, — "I surmise the ghost must have been the old 
housekeeper, walking her rounds to see that all was right." 

"Bah!" said the narrator. "My uncle was too much 
accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from 
a housekeeper." ^ 20 

There was a murmur round the table, half of merriment, 
half of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old 
gentleman had really an after-part of his story in reserve ; 
but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; and there 
was an odd expression about his dilapidated countenance 25 
which left me in doubt whether he were in drollery or earnest. 

"Egad,"° said the knowing gentleman, with the flexible 
nose, "this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one 
that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's 
side ; though I don't know that it will bear a comparison, 30 
as the good lady was not so prone to meet with strange 
adventures. But at any rate you shall have it." 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 

My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and 
great resolution ; she was what might be termed a very 
manly woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, 
very meek and acquiescent, ° and no match for my aunt. 
5 It was observed that he dwindled and dwindled 
gradually away, from the day of his marriage. His 
wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; it wore him 
out. My aunt, however, took all possible care of him; 
had half the doctors in town to prescribe for him; made 

lo him take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with 
physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All was in vain.° 
My uncle grew worse and worse the more dosing and 
nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another 
to the long list of matrimonial victims who have been 

15 killed with kindness. 

^^And was it his ghost that appeared to her?'' asked 
the inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former 
story-teller. 

^^You shall hear," rephed the narrator. ^^My aunt 

20 took on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. 
Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him 
so much physic, and nursed him into the grave. At any 
rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his 
memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity 

25 or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature^ 

30 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 31 

of him about her neck as large as a httle sundial, and had 
a full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bed- 
chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the 
skies ; and it was determined that a woman who behaved 
so well to the memory of one husband deserved soon to 5 
get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take up her 
residence in an old country-seat in Derbyshire, ° which 
had long been in the care of merely a steward and a house- 
keeper. She took most of her servants with her, intending 10 
to make it her principal abode. The house stood in a 
lonely, wild part of the country, among the gray Derby- 
shire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak 
height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened out of 15 
their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan- 
looking place ; especially when they got together in the 
servants' hall in the evening, and compared notes on all 
the hobgoblin stories picked up in the course of the day. 
They were afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, 20 
black-looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was 
troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone 
in such a ^gashly rummaging old building'; and the 
footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in 
his power to cheer her up. 25 

My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the 
house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well 
the fastenings of the doors and windows; locked up the 
plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together 
with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room; 30 
for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all things 
herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, and dis- 
missed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair ; 



32 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom 
widow, she was somewhat particular about her person. 
She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, 
first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to 
5 do when they would ascertain whether they have been in 
good looks; for a roistering country squire of the neigh- 
borhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called 
that day to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move 

lo behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was 
nothing to be seen, — nothing but the grimly painted 
portrait of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall. 

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was 
accustomed to do whenever she spoke of him in com- 

ispany, and then went on adjusting her night-dress, and 
thinking of the squire. Her sigh was re-echoed, or answered 
by a long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but 
no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the 
wind oozing through the rat-holes of the old mansion, 

20 and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, 
all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of 
the portrait move.^' 

^^The back of her head being towards it!^' said the 
story-teller with the ruined head, — "good!"° 

25 ^' Yes, sir ! '^ replied dryly the narrator, ^^her back being 
towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection 
in the glass. Well, as I was saying, she perceived one 
of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circum- 
stance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. 

30 To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her fore- 
head as if rubbing it; peeped through the fingers, and 
moved the candle with- the other hand. The light of the 
taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 33 

She was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give 
her a wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to 
do when Hving ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; 
for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfully situated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost 5 
as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir (turning to the 
old story-teller), became instantly calm and collected. 
She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an 
air, and did not make even a single false note. She casu- 
ally overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and picked 10 
up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a rolling 
pin-cushion that was making the best of its way under the 
bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the 
corridor, as if in doubt whether to go; and then walked 
quietly out. 15 

She hastened down stairs, ordered the servants to arm 
themselves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself 
at their head, and returned almost immediately. 

Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force. 
The steward had a rusty blunder-buss, ° the coachman a 20 
loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse-pistols, the cook 
a huge chopping-knife, and the butler a bottle in each 
hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in 
my opinion she was the most formidable of the party. 
The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the ser- 25 
vants^ hall, brought up the rear, smelling at a broken 
bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the 
ghostesses. ^Ghosts!' said my aunt, resolutely. ^I'U 
singe their whiskers for them ! ' 

They entered the chamber. All was still and undis- 30 
turbed as when she had left it. They approached the 
portrait of my uncle. 

^ Pull down that picture ! ' cried my aunt. A heavy 



34 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued 
from the portrait. The servants shrunk back; the maid 
uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman for sup- 
port. 
5 ^ Instantly ! ' added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind 

it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth 

a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet,° with a knife 

as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen 

lo leaf.^' 

^'Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose/' said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

^'A Knight of the Post,''° replied the narrator, ''who 
had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow; 
1 5 or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her 
chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, when 
all the house should be asleep. In plain terms,'' continued 
he, 'Hhe vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighbor- 
hood, who had once been a servant in the house, and had 
2o been employed to assist in arranging it for the reception 
of its mistress. He confessed that he had contrived this 
hiding-place for his nefarious purpose, and had borrowed 
an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitring-hole." 

"And what did they do with him? — did they hang 
25 him?" resumed the questioner. 

''Hang him! — -how could they?" exclaimed a beetle- 
browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. "The offence was 
not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. 

No forcible entry or breaking into the premises " 

30 "My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit, 
and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her 
own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow 
to be drawn through the horse-pond, to cleanse away all 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 35 

offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken 
towel/' ° 

^^And what became of him afterwards ? '' said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

^'I do not exactly know. I believe he was sent on a 5 
voyage of improvement to Botany Bay.° '' 

^^And your aunt/' said the inquisitive gentleman; ^^I'U 
warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the 
room with her after that.'' 

^^No, sir, she did better; she gave her hand shortly 10 
after to the roistering squire ; for she used to observe that 
it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in the 
country." 

^'She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman, 
nodding sagaciously; ^'but I am sorry they did not hang 15 
that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had 
brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, 
though a country clergyman present regretted that the 
uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had 20 
not been married together; they certainly would have 
been well matched. 



PART SECOND 
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 



This world is the best that we Hve in, 
To lend, or to spend, or to give in; 
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man^s own, 
'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 
— Lines from an Inn Window, 



PART SECOND 
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 

LITERARY LIFE 

Among other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, I had at 
one time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life; 
and being at London, one of the most noted places for the 
production of books, I was excessively anxious to know 
something of the afiimals which produced them. Chance 5 
fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the 
name of Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had 
lived much in the metropolis, and could give me the 
natural history of every odd animal to be met with in that 
wilderness of men. He readily imparted to me some 10 
useful hints upon the subject of my inquiry, 

^'The literary world,'' said he, "is made up of httle 
confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the 
lights of the universe, and considering all others as mere 
transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, 15 
while its own luminaries^ are to shine steadily on to 
immortahty." 

"And pray," said I, "how is a man to get a peep into 
those confederacies you speak of? I presume an inter- 
course with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, 20 
where one must bring his commodities to barter, and 
always give a quid pro quo.^ " 

39 



40 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

^'Pooh, pooh! how you mistake/' said Buckthorne, 
smiHng; "you must never think to become popular 
among wits by shining. They go into society to shine 
themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I 
5 once thought as you do, and never went into literary 
society without studying my part beforehand; the con- 
sequence was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable 
proser, and should in a little while have been completely 
excommunicated, ° had I not changed my plan of opera- 

lotions. No, sir, no character succeeds so well among wits 
as that of a good listener; or if ever you are eloquent, 
let it be when tete-a-tete^ with an author, and then in 
praise of his own w^orks, or, what is nearly as acceptable, 
in disparagement of the works of his contemporaries. If 

15 ever he speaks favorably of the productions of a par- 
ticular friend, dissent boldly from him; pronounce his 
friend to be a blockhead; never fear his being vexed.. 
Much as people speak of the irritability of authors, I 
never found one to take offence at such contradictions. 

20 No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting 
the faults of their friends. ° 

"Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing 
of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic 
observations on the most distinguished writers of the 

25 day.'' 

"Faith," said I, "I'll praise none that have not been 
dead for at least half a century." 

"Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, "I would 
advise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know that 

30 many old writers have been enlisted under the banners 
of different sects, and their merits have become as com- 
pletely topics of party discussion as the merits of living 
statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been whole 



LITERARY LIFE 41 

periods of literature absolutely taboo'd,° to use a South 
Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's critical 
reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise 
of any of the writers of the reign of Charles the Second, ° 
or even of Queen Anne,° they being all declared French- 5 
men in disguise/' 

'^And pray,'' said I, ^^when am I then to know that I 
am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the 
literary landmarks, ° and the boundary line of fashionable 
taste." 10 

^^Oh!" replied he, ^Hhere is fortunately one tract of 
literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which 
all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the ex- 
cess of their good-humor ; and this is in the reigns of 
Elizabeth^ and James. Here you may praise away at 15 
random. Here it is ^ cut and come again ' ° ; and the more 
obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his 
style, the more your admiration will smack of the real 
relish of the connoisseur; whose taste, like that of an 
epicure, is always for game that has an antiquated flavor. 20 

^^But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know 
something of literary society, I will take the opportunity 
to introduce you to some coterie, ° where the talents of 
the day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, 
that they will all be of the first order. Somehow or 25 
other, our great geniuses are not gregarious ; ° they do not 
go in flocks, but fly singly in general society. They pre- 
fer mingling like common men with the multitude, and 
are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the 
reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd to- 30 
gether, acquire strength and importance by their con- 
federacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of 
their species.'^ 



A LITERARY DINNER 

A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buck- 
thorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a 
regular literary dinner. It was given by a great book- 
seller, ° or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm 
5 surpassed in length that of Shadrach, Meschech, and 
Abednego.° 

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty 
guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. 
Mr. Buckthorne explained this to me, by informing me 

I o that this was a business-dinner, or kind of field-day^ 
which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It 
is true they did occasionally give snug dinners to three 
or four literary men at a time ; but then these were gen- 
erally select authors, favorites of the public, such as had 

15 arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. ^^ There are," 
said he, "certain geographical boundaries in the land of 
literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's 
popularity by the wine his bookseller gives him. An 
author crosses the port line about the third edition, and 

20 gets into claret; and when he has reached the sixth or 
seventh, he may revel in champagne or burgundy." ° 

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen 
have reached that I see around me? are any of these 
claret drinkers?" 

25 "Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great 
dinners the common steady run of authors, one or 
two edition men; or if any others are invited, they 

42 



A LITERARY DINNER 43 

are aware that it is a kind of republican meeting — 
you understand me, — a meeting of the repubHc of 
letters; and that they must expect nothing but plain, 
substantial fare/' 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 5 
arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied 
by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to have 
adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence of 
his guests. A popular poet had the post of honor; op- 
posite to whom was a hot-pressed° traveller in quarto^ 10 
with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had pro- 
duced several solid works, that were much quoted and 
little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next 
to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a 
thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, 15 
that was getting into fashion. Several three-volumed 
duodecimo men,° of fair currency, were placed about the 
centre of the table; while the lower end was taken up 
with small poets, translators, and authors who had not 
as yet risen into much notoriety. 20 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts; 
breaking out here and there in various parts of the table 
in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had 
the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, 
and independent of his bookseller, was very gay and 25 
brilliant, and said many clever things which set the part- 
ner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company. 
The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness, 
and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of 
business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. 30 
His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buck- 
thorne. He informed me that the concerns of the house 
were admirably distributed among the partners. "Thus. 



44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for instance/' said he, ^Hhe grave gentleman is the carving 
partner, who attends to the joints; and the other is the 
laughing partner, who attends to the jokes/' 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
5 upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to 
possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew 
at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in 
talking, they did in eating. Never was there a more 
determined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on 

10 the trencher ° than by this phalanx of masticators. When 
the cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate, 
they grew very merry and jocose among themselves. 
Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached 
the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. 

15 Even the laughing partner did not think it necessary to 
honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor Buckthorne 
accounted for by informing me that there was a certain 
degree of popularity to be obtained before a bookseller 
could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. 

20 Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated 
below the salt,° my eye singled out one in particular. He 
was rather shabbily dressed; though he had evidently 
made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt- 
frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. 

25 His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little too florid, 
particularly about the nose; though the rosy hue gave 
the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a 
little the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the 
poor devil in it which gives an inexpressible- mellow tone 

30 to a man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer 
promise; but never was promise so ill kept. He said 
nothing, ate and drank with the keen appetite of a garret- 
eer, ° and scarcely stopped to laugh, even at the good jokes 



A LITERARY DINNER 45 

from the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was. 
Buckthorne looked at him attentively: ^^Gad,'' said he, 
'^I have seen that face before, but where I cannot rec- 
ollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose 
some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign travels. ^^ 5 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea 
and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of in- 
ferior guests — authors of small volumes in boards, and 
pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet 
arrived to the importance of a dinner-invitation, but were 10 
invited occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. 
They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, 
seemed to stand a little in awe of them; but they paid 
devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extrava- 
gantly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel 15 
confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off 
in corners, talking to one another ; or turned over the port- 
folios of prints which they had not seen above five thou- 
sand times, or moused over the music on the forte-piano. ° 

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the per- 20 
sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room ; 
being men evidently of circulation in the West End.° 
They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid 
her a thousand compliments and civilities, at some of 
which I thought she would have expired with delight. 25 
Every thing they said and did had the odor of fashionable 
life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil author in 
the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately 
after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the 
glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further 30 
to interest my attention, I took my departure soon after 
coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin, 
genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentleman, masters of the field. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 

I THINK it was the very next evening that, in coming 
out of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend 
Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another peep at 
Hfe and character. Finding me wiUing for any research of 
5 the kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow 
courts and lanes about Covent Garden, ° until we stopped 
before a tavern, from which we heard the bursts of merri- 
ment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal of 
laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a 

lo prime wag were telling a story. After a little while there 
was a song, and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar, 
and a vehement thumping on the table. 

^^This is the place, '^ whispered Buckthorne; "it is 
the club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits, 

15 third-rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. 
Any one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the 
use of the club.'' 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took 
our seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner of the room. 

20 The club was assembled round a table, on which stood 
beverages of various kinds, according to the "tastes of the 
individuals. The members were a set of queer fellows in- 
deed; but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the 
prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author whom I 

25 had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising 

46 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 47 

face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, 
were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere 
cipher; here he was lord of the ascendant, the choice 
spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the 
table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more 5 
luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip"^ 
for every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Noth- ' 
ing could be said or done without eliciting a spark from 
him: and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse 
wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, 10 
were rather wet, but they suited the circle over which he 
presided. The company were in that maudlin mood, 
when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened 
his hps there was sure to be a roar ; and even sometimes 
before he had time to speak. 15 

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee 
composed by him expressly for the club, and which he 
sung with two boon companions, who would have been 
worthy subjects for Hogarth 's° pencil. As they were each 
provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure 20 
the reading of it. 

Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 

And merrily troll the glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass, 

So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 25 

Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose. 

Until it right rosy shall be; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 

Is a sign of good company. 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the 30 
wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched 
under it, and wide apart; his hands in his breeches- 



48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

pockets; his head drooped upon his breast; and gazing 
with lack-lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His 
gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. 

My companion approached, and startled him from his 
5 fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength 
of their having dined together at the booksellers'. 

^^By the way,'' said he, ^4t seems to me I have seen 
you before; your face is surely that of an old acquaint- 
ance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have 
lo known you." 

''Very hkely," replied he, with a smile; ''many of my 

old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, 

my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, 

however, it will assist your recollection in any way, my 

15 name is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 

"What! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's 
school in Warwickshire?" 

"The same," said the other, coolly. 
"Why, then, we are old school-mates, though it's no 
20 wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by 
several years ; don't you recollect Uttle Jack Buckthorne ? " 
Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition, 
and a world of talk about old school times and school 
pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy 
25 sigh, "that times were sadly changed since those days." 
"Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a differ- 
ent man here from what you were at dinner. I had no 
idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were 
all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a 
30 roar." 

"Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of his head, 
and a shrug of the shoulder, "I am a mere glowworm. 
I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 49 

poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich 
bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at any 
thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of 
the day about me? But here, though a poor devil, I 
am among still poorer devils than myself ; men who look 5 
up to me as a man of letters, and a helle-esprit,^ and all 
my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint/' 

^^You surely do yourself injustice, sir,'' said I; '^I have 
certainly heard more good things from you this evening 
than from any of those beaux-esprits, by whom you appear 10 
to have been so daunted." 

"Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are in 
the fashion — there's nothing like being in fashion. A 
man that has once got his character up for a wit is al- 
ways sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as 15 
much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current. 
No one stops to question the coin of a rich man; but a 
poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea with- 
out its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin are 
always doubted with a threadbare coat. 20 

"For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a 
little more on one side, — "for my part, I hate your 
fine dinners; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a 
chop-house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak and 
tankard° among my own set, than drink claret and eat ven- 25 
ison with your cursed civil, elegant company, who never 
laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being 
vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in 

low places, but withers on your d d high, dry grounds. 

I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined my- 30 
self; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Noth- 
ing saved me but being arrested by my landlady, and 
thrown into prison, where a course of catch-clubs, eight- 



50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

penny ale, and poor-devil company manured my mind 
and brought it back to itself again/^ 

As it was now growing late, we parted for the even- 
ing, though I felt anxious to know more of this practical 
5 philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne 
proposed to have another meeting, to talk over old school 
times, and inquired his school-mate's address. The lat- 
ter seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings; 
but suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood — ^^Green- 

lo arbor Court, ° sir,'' exclaimed he — ^' Number in 

Green-arbor Court. You must know the place. Classic 
ground, sir, classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith 
wrote his 'Vicar of Wakefield,' — I always like to live 
in literary haunts." 

15 I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby 
quarters. On our way homeward, Buckthorne assured 
me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great 
wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those 
unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he 

20 perceived me curious respecting his old school-mate, he 
promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to 
Green-arbor Court. 

A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and we 
set forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety 

25 of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; for he 
appeared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate geog- 
raphy of the metropolis. At length we came out upon 
Fleet Market, ° and traversing it, turned up a narrow street 
to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone- steps, called 

30 Breakneck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green- 
arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might 
many a time have risked his neck. When we entered the 
court, I could not but smile to think in what out-of-the- 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 61 

way corners genius produces her bantlings ! And the 
muses, ° those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often 
refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries 
in splendid studies, and gilded drawing-rooms, — what 
holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their 5 
favors on some ragged disciple ! 

This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square, 
surrounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intestines 
of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old 
garments and frippery fluttering from every window. It 10 
appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were 
stretched about the little square, on which clothes were 
dangling to dry. 

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place 
between two viragoes ° about a disputed right to a wash- 15 
tub, and immediately the whole community was in a hub- 
bub. Heads in mob caps popped out of every window, and 
such a clamor of tongues ensued that I was fain to stop 
my ears. Every Amazon ° took part with one or other 
of the disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping with 20 
soap-suds, and fired away from her window as from the 
embrazure of a fortress ; while the swarms of children 
nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this 
hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to 
swell the general concert. 25 

Poor Goldsmith ! w^hat a time he must have had of it, 
with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up 
in this den of noise and vulgarity! How strange that, 
while every sight and sound was sufficient to embitter the 
heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be 30 
dropping the honey of Hybla ° ! Yet it is more than 
probable that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of 
low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this 



52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to 
wash her husband^s two shirts in a neighbor's house, who 
refused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport of 
fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His land- 
5 lady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs'° 
scanty wardrobe have been a facsimile of his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to 
Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in 
a room that looked upon the court ; and when we entered, 

lo he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken 
table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor- 
devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first 
appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a 
little higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he 

15 recollected himself in an instant; gave a half swagger, 
half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three- 
legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lumber- 
ing old damask chair, that looked like a dethroned mon- 
arch in exile ; and bade us welcome to his garret. 

20 We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne 
and he had much to say about early school scenes; and 
as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections 
of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his 
literary career. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 

I BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag and bright 
fellow at school; and I had the further misfortune of 
becoming the great genius of my native village. My 
father was a country attorney, and intended I should suc- 
ceed him in business ; but I had too much genius to study, 5 
and he was too fond of my genius to force it into the 
traces ; so I fell into bad company, and took to bad habits. 
Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company 
of village literati, ° and village blues, and took to writing 
village poetry. 10 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. 
There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who as- 
sembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a 
Literary, Scientific^ and Philosophical Society, and fancied 
ourselves the most learned Philos° in existence. Every 15 
one had a great character assigned him, suggested by some 
casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an 
enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his arm-chair, talked 
sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and was con- 
sidered a second Dr. Johnson, another, who happened 20 
to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel 
rhymes, and was the Swift of our association. Thus we 
had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons; and 
a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room we frequented, 
who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and 25 

53 



54 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wrote letters with the stiffness and formahty of a printed 
book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by 
common consent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical 
youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, 
5 through whom it was to become one day as celebrated as 
Stratf ord-on-Avon. ° 

My father died, and left me his blessing and his business. 
His blessing brought no money into my pocket; and as 
to his business, it soon deserted me; for I was busy 

I o writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my 
clients, though they had great respect for my talents, 
had no faith in a poetical attorney. 

I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and 
finished my poem. It was '^ The Pleasures of Melancholy, '' 

15 and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. ^^The 
Pleasures of Imagination,^' ''The Pleasures of Hope,'' and 
''The Pleasures of Memory," though each had placed 
its author in the first ranks of poets, were blank prose in 
comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from 

20 beginning to end. It was pronounced by ail the members 
of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society the 
greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it 
would make in the great world. There was not a doubt 
but the London booksellers would be mad after it; and 

25 the only fear of my friends was, that I would make a 
sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked 
the matter over, they increased the price. They reckoned 
up the great sums given for the poems of certain popular 
writers, and determined that mine was worth more than 

30 all put together, and ought to be paid for accordingly. 
For my part, I was modest in my expectations, and deter- 
mined that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. 
So I put my poem in my pocket, and set off for London. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 65 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my 
purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and 
fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes 
upon old London from the heights of Highgate ° ! I was 
like a general, looking down upon a place he expects to 5 
conquer. The great metropohs lay stretched before me, 
buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that 
wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed 
for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of 
the city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased 10 
until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched 
uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola 
of St. PauFs^ swelled dimly through this misty chaos, 
and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that 15 
lies about its base. How soon should ^'The Pleasures of 
Melancholy" throw this world of booksellers and printers 
into a bustle of business and delight ! How soon should 
I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout 
Paternoster Row,° and Angel Court, and Ave-Maria Lane, 20 
until Amen Corner° should echo back the sound ! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fash- 
ionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of 
course. In fact, it had been determined in the village 
circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell 25 
you how vaingloriously I walked the streets. My head 
was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing about 
it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo° of literary 
glory. As I passed by the windows of book-shops, I 
anticipated the time when my work would be shining 30 
among the hot-pressed wonders of the day; and my 
face, scratched on copper, or cut on wood, figuring in 
fellowship with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. ° 



66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

When I applied at the pubHsher^s house, there was 
something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of 
my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They 
doubtless took me for some person of consequence ; prob- 
5 ably a digger of Greek roots, ° or a penetrater of pyramids. 
A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing 
character in the world of letters; one must feel intel- 
lectually secure before he can venture to dress shabbily; 
none but a great genius, or a great scholar, dares to be 

lo dirty ; so I was ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum'^ 
of this high-priest of Minerva. ° 

The publishing of books is a very different affair nowa- 
days from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot.^ 
I found the publisher a fashionably-dressed man, in an 

15 elegant drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits 
of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound books. 
He was writing letters at an elegant table. This was 
transacting business in style. The place seemed suited 
to the magnificent publications that issued from it. I 

20 rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I 
always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port 
I had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle; 
though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such 

25 as one feels when about to make a man^s fortune. The 
publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed wait- 
ing in mute suspense to know what was to be announced 
by so singular an apparition. 

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that 

30 1 had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known 
my name, and the name of my poem; produced my 
precious roll of blotted manuscript; laid it on the 
table with an emphasis; and told him at once, to save 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 67 

time and come directly to the point, the price was one , 
thousand guineas. 

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so 
inchned. He continued looking at me for a moment with 
an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from head to 5 
foot; looked down at the manuscript, then up again at 
me, then pointed to a chair ; and whistling softly to him- 
self, went on writing his letter. 

I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was 
making up his mind; but he only paused occasionally to 10 
take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his 
nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident his 
mind was intently occupied upon some other subject; 
but I had no idea that any other subject could be attended 
to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had sup- 15 
posed that every thing would make way for /^ The Pleasures 
of Melancholy.'' 

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my 
manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of 
the room, making some noise as I went out to let my 20 
departure be heard. The publisher, however, was too 
much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered 
to walk down stairs without being called back. I sallied 
forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after me ; nor 
did the pubhsher call after me from the drawing-room 25 
window. I have been told since that he considered me 
either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how 
much he was in the wrong in his opinion. ° 

When I turned the corner, my crest fell.° I cooled 
down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my 30 
terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had 
no better success ; nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I 
then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves ; 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me 
poetry was a mere drug; everybody wrote poetry; the 
market was overstocked with it. And then they said the 
title of my poem was not taking; that pleasures of all 
5 kinds were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did 
nowadays, and even those were almost worn out. Tales 
of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks might answer toler- 
ably well ; but then they must come from some established, 
well-known name, or the public would not look at them. 

lo At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller 
to read it, and judge for himself. ''Well, really, my dear 

Mr. a — a — I forget your name,^' said he, casting 

his eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, ''really, sir, 
we are so pressed with business just now, and have so 

15 many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time 
to look at any new productions; but if you can call 
again in a week or two, or say the middle of next month, 
we may be able to look over your writings, and give you an 
answer. Don^t forget, the month after next ; good morn- 

£o ing, sir ; happy to see you any time you are passing this 
way.^^ So saying, he bowed me out in the civilest way 
imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competition 
to secure my poem, I could not even get it read ! In the 
meantime I was harassed by letters from my friends, want- 

25 ing to know when the work was to appear; who was to 
be my publisher; and above all things, warning me not 
to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined to 
publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph over 

30 the booksellers when it should become the fashion of the 
day. I accordingly published "The Pleasures of Mel- 
ancholy,'^ — and ruined myself. Excepting the copies 
sent to the reviews, and to my friends in the country, 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 59 

not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller ^s warehouse. 
The printer ^s bill drained my purse ; and the only notice 
that was taken of my work was contained in the adver- 
tisements paid for by myself. 

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as 5 
usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the 
want of taste in the public; and could have made the 
usual appeal to posterity; but my village friends would 
not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to 
themselves feasting with the great, communing with the 10 
literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 
Every little while, some one would call on me with a 
letter of introduction from the village circle, recommend- 
ing him to my attentions, and requesting that I would 
make him known in society ; with a hint, that an introduc- 15 
tion to a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely 
agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my lodg- 
ings, drop my correspondence, and disappear altogether 
from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I was 
anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no 20 
means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem 
was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. 
It no longer read for instruction. ^^They want horrors, 
do they?'' said I : ^'I' faith ! then they shall have enough 
of them.'' So I looked out for some quiet, retired place, 25 
where I might be out of the reach of my friends, and have 
leisure to cook up some delectable dish of poetical ^^hell- 
broth." 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, 
when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. 30 
It is an ancient brick tower, hard by ^^ merry Islington"; 
the remains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where 
she took the pleasure of the country when the neighbor- 



60 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

hood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest 
in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the 
residence of a poet. 

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his 
5 ^^ Deserted Village.'^ I was shown the very apartment. It 
was a relic of the original style of the castle, with panelled 
wainscots and Gothic^ windows. I was pleased with its 
air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence of 
poor Goldy.° 

lo ^'Goldsmith was a pretty poet,'' said I to myself, '^a 
very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He 
did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowa- 
days; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and 
hot heads, he would no doubt have written quite differ- 

isently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new 
quarters; my books all arranged; my writing-desk 
placed by a window looking out into the fields ; and I felt 
as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his 

20 bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of 
the change and charms which grace new lodgings, before 
one has found out their defects. I rambled about the 
fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I ex- 
plored merry Islington ; ate my solitary dinner at the Black 

25 Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country-seat of 
Sir Walter Raleigh ; and would sit and sip my wine, and 
muse on old times, in a quaint old room, where many a 
council had been held. 

All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated 

30 by novelty; inspired by the associations awakened in 
my mind by these curious haunts; and began to think 
I felt the spirit of composition stirring within me. But 
Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarm- 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 61 

ing about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window 
but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket- 
ground° ; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive 
with the tread of feet and clack of tongues ; and, to com- 
plete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was ab- 5 
solutely a ^^ show-house,'^ the tower and its contents being 
shown to strangers at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens 
and their families, to look about the country from the top 
of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the 10 
telescope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. ° 
And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment 
of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to 
flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door, 
and asking me if I would ^'just please to let a lady and 15 
gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's 
room." If you know any thing of what an author's study 
is, and what an author is himself, you must know that 
there was no standing this. I put positive interdict on 
my room's being exhibited ; but then it was shown when 20 
I was absent, and my papers put in confusion; and, on 
returning home one day, I absolutely found a cursed 
tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts, 
and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to 
make out a little longer, by taking the key in my pocket; 25 
but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day 
telling some of her customers on the stairs, that the room 
was occupied by an author, who was always in a tan- 
trum if interrupted; and I immediately perceived, by a 
slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me 30 
through the key-hole. By the head of Apollo,° but this 
was quite too much ! With all my eagerness for fame, 
and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea 



62 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, and that 
through a key-hole. So I bid adieu to Canonbury Castle, 
merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, with- 
out having advanced a single line in my labors. 
5 My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cot- 
tage, which stands not far from Hampstead, just on the 
brow of a hill; looking over Chalk Farm and Camden 
Town, remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red 
Cap° and Mother Black Cap; and so across Crackskull 

lo Common to the distant city. 

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself; but I 
regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a 
persecuted author. Hither poor Steele ° had retreated, 
and laid perdu, ° when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs 

IS — those immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited 
gentlemen ; and' here he had written many numbers of the 
^^ Spectator. ^^ ° It was hence, too, that he had dispatched 
those little notes to his lady, so full of affection and whim- 
sicality, in which the fond husband, the careless gentle- 

20 man, and the shifting spendthrift were so oddly blended. 
I thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment, 
that I could sit within it and write volumes. 

No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, as ill 
luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was 

25 a little ale-house, with the sign of the Load of Hay. 
Whether it was there in Steele ^s time, I cannot say; but 
it set all attempts at conception or inspiration at defiance. 
It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the 
broad fields in the neighborhood; and of drovers and 

30 teamsters who travel that road. Here they would gather 
in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the har- 
vest moon, and sit around a table at the door ; and tipple, 
and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs, 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 63 

and dawdle away the hours, until the deep solemn notes 
of St. PauFs clock would warn the varlets home. 

In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad 
summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and 
the perfume of the new-mown hay brought w4th it the rec- s 
ollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining in 
my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill, 
and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd ^s Fields, and all 
those Arcadian® scenes so celebrated by London bards. 
I cannot tell you how many delicious hours I have passed, lo 
lying on the cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant 
slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance of the 
fields, while the summer-fly buzzed about me, or the grass- 
hopper leaped into my bosom; and how I have gazed 
with half-shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and 15 
listened to the distant sound of its population, and pitied 
the poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like gnomes 
in the '^dark gold-mines.'^ 

People may say what they please about cockney 
pastorals, ° but after all there is a vast deal of rural beauty 20 
about the western vicinity of London; and any one that 
has looked down upon the valley of the West End with its 
soft bosom of green pasturage lying open to the south and 
dotted with cattle, the steeple of Hampstead rising among 
rich groves on the brow of the hill, and the learned height 25 
of Harrow ° in the distance, will confess that never has he 
seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of a 
great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off 
for my frequent change of lodgings; and I began to dis- s- 
cover that, in literature as in trade, the old proverb holds 
good — '^A rolHng stone gathers no moss.'' 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very 



64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into 
the termagant^ vein. I could not conceive, amidst the 
smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the 
smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes 
5 and bandits out of my brain. I could think of nothing 
but dulcet subjects: ^^The Pleasures of Spring'^; ^^The 
Pleasures of Solitude '' ; '' The Pleasures of Tranquillity^' ; 
^^The Pleasures of Sentimenf ; nothing but pleasures; 
and I had the painful experience of ^'The Pleasures of 

lo Melancholy '^ too strongly in my recollection to be be- 
guiled by them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently, 
in my ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which 
is a kind of Parnassus^ of the metropolis. At such times 

15 I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. 
It is a country inn so named; the very spot where that 
notorious rebel and his followers held their council of war. 
It is a favorite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, 
as it commands fine fresh air and a good view of the city. 

20 I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating 
over a beefsteak and a pint of porter, when my imagination 
kindled up with ancient and heroic images. I had long 
wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon 
my mind. I determined to write a poem on the history of 

25 Jack Straw. ° I was so full of the subject that I was 
fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the 
poets of the day in their search after ruffian heroes had 
never thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pellmell, 
blotted several sheets of paper with choice floating 

30 thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a 
moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched out 
the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but 
to give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 65 

and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and would 
dine at the Castle, by way of keeping up the vein of 
thought. 

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public 
room. There was no other company but one man, who 5 
sat enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and notic- 
ing the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shooting 
coat. His countenance was strongly marked : he had a 
hooked nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had some- 
thing of a squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a poetical lo 
style of head. I was quite taken with the man, for you 
must know I am a little of a physiognomist; I set him 
down at once for either a poet or a philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every 
man a volume of human nature, ° I soon fell into conver- 15 
sation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was 
by no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I 
joined him at the window, and we became so sociable that 
I proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he most 
cheerfully assented. 20 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the 
subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, 
and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaint- 
ance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump° 
exactly with my humor in every respect. I became 25 
elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the fulness 
of an author ^s feelings, I told him of my projected poem, 
and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He 
was evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

^^Sir,^' said he, filling my glass at the same time, "our 30 
poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out 
of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. I 
like your Jack Straw, sir — he's a home-made hero. \ 



66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

like him, sir — I like him exceedingly. He^s English to 
the backbone — damme — Give me honest old England 
after all! Them's my sentiments, sir/' 

^'I honor your sentiment,'' cried I, zealously; ^4t is 
5 exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian 
for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archi- 
pelago°; but it is hard to make our poets think so." 

^^More shame for them!" replied the man in green. 
'^What a plague would they have? What have we to do 
lo with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't 
we heaths and commons and highways on our own little 
island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof ° over 
them too ? Stick to home, I say, — them's my senti- 
ments. — Come, sir, my service to you — I agree with 
15 you perfectly." 

^^ Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject," 

continued I; ^^ witness the fine old ballads about Robin 

Hood,° Allan a'Dale, and other stanch blades of yore." 

^^ Right, sir, right," interrupted he; ''Robin Hood! 

20 he was the lad to cry Stand ! to a man, and never to flinch." 

"Ah, sir," said I; ''they had famous bands of robbers 

in the good old times; those were glorious poetical days. 

The merry crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a 

roving picturesque life, 'under' the greenwood tree.' I 

25 have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the 

scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the 

Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie." 

"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had 
several very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant 
30 dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood 
of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Black- 
heath, for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. You 
don't drink." 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 67 

"I suppose/' cried I, emptying my glass, ^^I suppose 
you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in 
this very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk 
with his gang in Epping Forest ° about a hundred years 
since/' 5 

"Have I?" cried he; "to be sure I have! A hearty 
old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Turpentine ! as 
we used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir.'' 

"Well, sir," continued I, "I have visited Waltham 
Abbey ° and Chingford Church^ merely from the stories lo 
I heard when a boy of his exploits there, and I have 
searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to 
conceal himself. You must know," added I, "that I am 
a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing, 
daring fellows; the best apologies that we had for the 15 
knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir ! the country has been 
sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace. 
We are losing the old English spirit. The bold Knights 
of the Post have all dwindled down into lurking foot- 
pads, and sneaking pickpockets ; there's no such thing as 20 
a dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed nowadays 
on the king's highway. A man may roll from one end 
of England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling 
post-chaise, without any other adventure than that of 
being occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, 25 
or having an ill-cooked dinner. We hear no more of public 
coaches being stopped and robbed by a well-mounted 
gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in their hands and 
crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident 
was it, for example, in domestic life, for a family carriage, 3c 
on its way to a country-seat, to be attacked about dark; 
the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies 
of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely-spoken high- 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wayman on a blood-mare, who afterwards leaped the 
hedge and galloped across the country, to the admiration 
of Miss Caroline, the daughter, who would write a long 
and romantic account of the adventure to her friend, 
5 Miss Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with nothing of 
such incidents nowadays/' 

^'That, sir,'' said my companion, taking advantage of 
a pause, when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a 
glass of wine which he had just poured out, ^Hhat, sir, 

10 craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old 
English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of 
banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they 
did formerly. They have post-notes and drafts on bankers. 
To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you have 

15 nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. 

But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish 

galleon. ° It turned out the yellow boys° bravely. And 

a private carriage was a cool hundred or two at least." 

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the 

20 saUies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often 
frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more of 
me; and I proposed myself many a pleasant afternoon 
with him, when I should read him my poem as it proceeded, 
and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evident he had the 

25 true poetical feeling. 

''Come, sir/' said he, pushing the bottle; "damme, I 
hke you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed 
slow in making new acquaintances. One must be on the 
reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your 

30 kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's 
my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's 
health ! I presume one can drink it nowadays without 
treason." 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 69 

"With all my heart/^ said I, gayly, '^and Dick Turpin's 
into the bargain !'' 

"Ah, sir/^ said the man in green, "those are the kind 
of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar, ° sir! the 
Newgate Calendar is your only reading ! There's the 5 
place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows/' 

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat 
until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both my 
purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he should 
pay the score at our next meeting. As the coaches had 10 
all gone that run between Hampstead and London, we 
had to return on foot. He was so delighted with the idea 
of my poem that he could talk of nothing else. He made 
me repeat such passages as I could remember ; and though 
I did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched 15 
memory, yet he was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with some 
scrap which he would misquote most terribly, would 
rub his hands and exclaim: "By Jupiter, that's fine, 
that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit 20 
upon such ideas ! " 

I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations, 
which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ; 
but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised ? 

Never had I spent a more delightful evening. I did 25 
not perceive how the time flew. I could not bear to sepa- 
rate, but continued walking on, arm in arm, with him, past 
my lodgings, through Camden Town, and across Crack- 
skull Common, talking the whole way about my poem. 

When we were half-way across the common, he inter- 30 
rupted me in the midst of a quotation, by telling me that 
this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still 
occasionally infested by them; and that a man had 



70 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. — 
^'The more fool he!" cried I; ^'a man is an idiot to risk 
life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's 
quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's 
5 honor is concerned. For my part,'' added I, "I should 
never think of making resistance against one of those 
desperadoes." 

^^Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning sud- 
denly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; " why, 

lo then, have at you, my lad ! — come — disburse ! empty ! 
unsack ! " 

In a word, I found that the muse had played me another 
of her tricks, ° and had betrayed me into the hands of a 
footpad. There was no time to parley; he made me 

15 turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the sound of 
distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, 
watch, and all; gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate 
that laid me sprawling on the ground, and scampered away 
with his booty. 

20 I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two 
afterwards; when I caught sight of his poetical counte- 
nance among a crew of scapegraces heavily ironed, who were 
on the way for transportation. He recognized me at once, 
tipped me an impudent w^nk, and asked me how I came 

25 on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 

The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an end to 
my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical 
enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I w^as 
put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse, 

30 I was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every 
farthing I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard 
Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, 
though no less poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in town. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 71 

I now determined to cultivate the society of the Hterary, 
and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It 
is by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that authors 
strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious 
conceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious complaint. 5 
I will keep company with poets; who knows but I may 
catch it as others have done? 

I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary ac- 
quaintances, not having the sin of success lying at my 
door : indeed the failure of my poem was a kind of rec- 10 
ommendation to their favor. It is true my new friends 
were not of the most brilliant names in literature; but 
then, if you would take their words for it, they were like 
the prophets of old, men of whom the world was not 
worthy; and who were to live in future ages, when the 15 
ephemeral favorites of the day should be forgotten. 

I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled 
in literary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that 
poetry was not so catching as I imagined; and that in 
familiar life there was often nothing less poetical than a 20 
poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit du corps° to turn these 
literary fellowships to any account. I could not bring 
myself to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something 
to like in them all, but found that would never do, for that 
the tacit condition on which a man enters into one of these 25 
sects is, that he abuses all the rest. 

I perceived that there were little knots of authors 
who lived with, and for, and by one another. They con- 
sidered themselves the salt of the earth. They fostered 
and kept up a conventional vein of thinking and talking, 30 
and joking on all subjects; and they cried each other up 
to the skies. Each sect had its particular creed; and set 
up certain authors as divinities, and fell down and wor- 



72 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

shipped them; and considered every one who did not 
worship them, or who worshipped any other, as a heretic 
and an infidel. 

In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found 
5 them extolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and 
talking slightingly of others who were the favorites of the 
public. If I mentioned any recent work from the pen of 
a first-rate author, they had not read it; they had not 
time to read all that was spawned from the press; he 

TO wrote too much to write well ; — and then they would 
break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Thom- 
son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the pres- 
ent day, but who was to be the wonder and delight of 
posterity! Alas! what heavy debts is this neglectful 

15 world daily accumulating on the shoulders of poor pos- 
terity ! 

But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what con- 
tempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how 
immeasurably the great are despised by the small fry of 

20 literature ! It is true, an exception was now and then 
made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had 
casually shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed 
at a public dinner, and was pronounced a ^^ devilish good 
fellow, '' and ^^ no humbug " ; but, in general, it was enough 

25 for a man to have a title, to be the object of their sovereign 
disdain ; you have no idea how poetically and philosophi- 
cally they would talk of nobility. 

For my part, this affected me but little; for though I 
had no bitterness against the great, and did not think 

30 the worse of a man for having innocently been born to a 
title, yet I did not feel myself at present called upon to 
resent the indignities poured upon them by the little. 
But the hostility to the great writers of the day went sore 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 73 

against the grain with me. I could not enter into such 
feuds, nor participate in such animosities. I had not 
become author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could 
still find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could 
find it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though 5 
he were successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my 
taste, and could not confine it to any age or growth of 
writers. I could turn with delight from the glowing 
pages of Byron to the cool and polished raillery of Pope ; 
and after wandering among the sacred groves of ^^ Para- 10 
dise Lost,'' I could give myself up to voluptuous abandon- 
ment in the enchanted bowers of ^^Lalla Rookh.'' 

"I would have my authors,'' said I, ^'as various as my 
wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy, would 
never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and 15- 
sherry are excellent stand-bys, and so is madeira; but 
claret and burgundy may be drunk now and then without 
disparagement to one's palate, and champagne is a bever- 
age by no means to be despised." 

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little 20 
flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with 
something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever 
one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer 
and hated Pope; so my figure about wines went for 
nothing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as 25 
downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like 
a freethinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and 
fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences 
of not hating in literature. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the 30 
residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with 
a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus^ ; 
of the poems I have written which were never printed, the 



74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

plays I have presented which were never performed, and 
the tracts I have pubhshed which were never purchased. 
It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the very public, 
had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I could 
5 not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, nor abandon 
those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How 
should I be able to look the literary circle of my native 
village in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their 
predictions ? For some time longer, therefore, I continued 

lo to write for fame, and was, of course, the most miserable 
dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starva- 
tion. I accumulated loads of literary treasure on my 
shelves — loads which were to be treasures to posterity ; 
but, alas ! they put not a penny into my purse. What 

15 was all this wealth to my present necessities ? I could not 
patch my elbows with an ode°; nor satisfy my hunger 
with blank verse. ^^ Shall a man fill his belly with the 
east wind?'' says the proverb. He may as well do so as 
with poetry. 

20 I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a 
sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and 
looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the 
town, and seen through the kitchen-windows the fires 
gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits 

25 and dripping with gravy, and the cook-maids beating up 
puddings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment 
that if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, 
Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heights of 
Parnassus for me. Oh, sir ! talk of meditations among 

30 the tombs, — they are nothing so melancholy as the 
meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along 
a line of kitchen-windows toward dinner-time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 75 

the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was 
not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had sup- 
posed. It was the salvation of me. The moment the idea 
popped into my brain it brought conviction and comfort 
with it. I awoke as from a dream ; I gave up immor- 5 
tal fame to those who could live on air; took to writing 
for mere bread; and have ever since had a very toler- 
able life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his 
ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I 
had to train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short 10 
at first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in 
spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite 
extreme, and abandoning the higher regions of the craft, 
I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. 
"Creeper! and pray what is that?^^ said I. 15 

"Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the 
craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers with 
paragraphs at so much a hne; and who goes about in 
quest of misfortunes; attends the Bow Street office, ° 
the courts of justice, and every other den of mischief and 20 
iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and 
as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper, 
we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now 
and then the muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly 
quiet, and then we rather starve; and sometimes the un- 25 
conscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they 
are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or three- 
pence at a go. I have many a time had my pot of porter 
snipped off my dinner in this way, and have had to dine 
with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I rose 30 
gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now, I 
think, in the most comfortable region of literature. '^ 
"And pray,'' said I, "what may you be at present?'' 



76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

"At present/' said he, "I am a regular job- writer, 
and turn my hand to any thing. I work up the writings 
of others at so much a sheet ; turn off translations ; write 
second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines; 
5 compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical 
criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, 
you perceive, is anonymous; it gives me no reputation 
except among the trade ; where I am considered an author 
of all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the 
lo only reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread 
of duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that 
choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, 
the only happy author in this world is he who is below the 
care of reputation.'' 



NOTORIETY^ 

When we had emerged from the Hterary nest of honest 
Dribble, and had passed safely through the dangers of 
Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths^ of Fleet Market, 
Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the peep 
into literary life which he had furnished me. 5 

I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a 
world from what I had imagined. ^^It is always so,'' said 
he, ^^with strangers. The land of literature is a fairy- 
land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other 
landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the 10 
thorns and briers become visible. The republic of letters 
is the most factious and discordant of all republics, an- 
cient or modern.'' 

''Yet," said I, smihng, ''you would not have me take 
honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is 15 
but a mousing owl ; a mere groundling. We should have 
quite a different strain from one of those fortunate authors 
whom we see sporting about the empyreal heights of 
fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a summer's day." 

"Perhaps we might," replied he, "but I doubt it. I 20 
doubt whether, if any one, even of the most successful, 
were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the 
truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to repu- 
tation. ° One you would find carrying a gay face to the 
world, while some vulture critic was preying upon his 25 

77 



78 tal:eis of a traveller 

very liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake 
fashion for fame, you would find watching countenances, 
and cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the 
heau monde than the world of letters, and apt to be rend- 
5 ered wretched by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a 
dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame you 
would find tormented with anxiety to get higher; and 
those who had gained the summit, in constant apprehen- 
sion of a decline. 

lo '' Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of notoriety, 
and the farce of fashion, are not much better off, being 
incessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure, and 
interruptions of their pursuits ; for, whatever may be his 
feelings, when once an author is launched into notoriety, 

15 he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of the day is 
satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way for some 
new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but he is 
most fortunate who engages in the whirl through ambi- 
tion, however tormenting; as it is doubly irksome to be 

20 obliged to join in the game without being interested in 
the stake. 

^^ There is a constant demand in the fashionable world 
for novelty; every nine days must have its wonder, no 
matter of what kind. At one time it is an author; at 

25 another, a fire-eater; at another, a composer, an Indian 
juggler, or an Indian chief; a man from the North Pole 
or the Pyramids ; — each figures through his brief term 
of notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding 
wonder. You must know that we have oddity fanciers 

30 among our ladies of rank, who collect about them all 
kinds of remarkable beings: fiddlers, statesmen, singers, 
warriors, artists, philosophers, actors, and poets; every 
kind of personage, in short, who is noted for something 



NOTORIETY 79 

peculiar, so that their routs° are Hke fancy-balls, where 
every one comes ^in character/ 

^'I have had infinite amusement at these parties in 
noticing how industriously every one was playing a part, 
and acting out of his natural line. There is not a more 5 
complete game at cross-purposes than the intercourse of 
the literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always 
anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentle- 
man. 

^^ I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and 10 
talk learnedly with a man of letters, who was aiming at a 
fashionable air, and the tone of a man who had lived about 
town. The peer quoted a score or two learned authors, 
with whom he would fain be thought intimate, while the 
author talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and 15 
extolled the burgundy he had drunk at Lord Such-a-one^s. 
Each seemed to forget that he could only be interesting to 
the other in his proper character. Had the peer been 
merely a man of erudition, the author would never have 
listened to his prosing; and had the author known all 20 
the nobility in the Court Calendar, ° it would have given 
him no interest in the eyes of the peer. 

"In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable 
for beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, 
while the philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, 25 
played with her fan, and prattled about the opera. I have 
heard a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a states- 
man about the national debt; and on joining a knot of 
scientific old gentlemen conversing in a corner, expecting 
to hear the discussion of some valuable discovery, I found 30 
they were only amusing themselves with a fat story/' 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 

The anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early school- 
mate, together with a variety of peculiarities which I had 
remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know 
something of his own history. I am a traveller of the good 
5 old school, and am fond of the custom laid down in books, 
according to which, whenever travellers met, they sat 
down forthwith, and gave a history of themselves and their 
adventures. This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to 
my taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with society, 

loyet retained the strong eccentricities of a man who had 
lived much alone. There was a careless dash of good- 
humor about him, which pleased me exceedingly; and 
at times an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his 
humor, and gave it an additional zest. He was apt to 

15 run into long speculations upon society and manners, and 
to indulge in whimsical views of human nature ; yet there 
was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon 
the follies than the vices of mankind ; and even the follies 
of his fellow-man were treated with the leniency of one 

20 who felt himself to be but frail. He had evid'ently been 
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being 
soured thereby : as some fruits become mellower and more 
generous in their flavor from having been bruised and 
frost-bitten. ° 

25 I have always had a great relish for the conversation 

80 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 81 

of practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited 
by the ^' sweet uses^' of adversity without imbibing its 
bitterness ; who have learnt to estimate the world rightly, 
yet good-humoredly ; and who, while they perceive the 
truth of the saying, that '^all is vanity/' are yet able to 5 
do so without vexation of spirit. 

Such a man was Buckthorne.° In general a laughing 
philosopher; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole 
across his brow, it was but transient, — like a summer 
cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the 10 
fields over which it passes. 

I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens, 
— for he was a knowing epicure ° in all the cheap pleasures 
and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was 
a delightful warm morning in spring; and he was in the 15 
happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose 
into grass and sunshine. He had been watching a lark 
which, rising from a bed of daisies and yellow-cups, had 
sung his way up to a bright snowy cloud floating in the 
deep blue sky.° 20 

''Of all birds,'' said he, "I should like to be a lark. He 
revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest 
season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening 
flowers; and when he has sated himself with the sweet- 
ness of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven as if he 25 
would drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to 
that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear ! 
What a stream of music, note falling over note in de- 
licious cadence ! Who would trouble his head about 
operas and concerts when he could walk in the fields and 30 
hear such music for nothing? These are the enjoyments 
which set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man 
independent : 



82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" ' I care not, Fortune, what you do deny : 

You cannot rob me of free nature's grace; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky. 

Through which Aurora° shows her brightening face; 
5 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve ' 

"Sir, there are homilies^ in nature ^s work worth all 

the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them 

rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received 

lo in time of trouble, was from hearing the notes of the lark/' 



PART THIRD 
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 



PART THIRD 
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 

THE INN AT TERRACINA^ 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 

^^Here comes the estafette° from Naples/' said mine 
host of the inn at Terracina; ^^ bring out the relay.^'' 

The estafette came galloping up the road according 
to custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled 5 
whip, with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which 
made a report like a pistol. He was a tight, square-set 
young fellow, in the usual uniform : a smart blue coat, 
ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short be- 
hind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked 10 
up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with 
gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; but, instead of the 
usual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of 
drawers, that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty 
to hide behind. 15 

The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped 
from his horse. 

"A glass of rosolio,° a fresh horse, and a pair of 
breeches,^' said he, ^'and quickly, per Vamor di Dio,^ I am 
behind my time, and must be off ! '' 20 

85 



86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'^San Gennaro/' replied the host; ^'why, where hast 
thou left thy garment ?'' 

^^ Among the robbers between this and Fondi.^'' 
^^What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. 
5 What could they hope to get from thee ? " 

''My leather breeches!'' replied the estafette. ''They 
were brand-new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy 
of the captain/' 

"Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To 
lo meddle with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake 
of a pair of leather breeches ! '' 

The robbing of the government messenger seemed to 
strike the host with more astonishment than any other 
enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, indeed, 
15 it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been com- 
mitted; the robbers generally taking care not to meddle 
with any thing belonging to government. 

The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had 
not lost an instant in making his preparations while 
20 talking. The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off ; 
he grasped the reins and the stirrup. 

"Were there many robbers in the band?'' said a hand- 
some, dark young man, stepping forward from the door 
of the inn. 
25 '^As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the esta- 
fette, springing into the saddle. 

"Are they cruel to travellers?" said a beautiful young 
Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's 
arm. 
30 ^^ Cruel, signora°!" echoed the estafette, giving a 
glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. "Corpo 
di Bacco I ° They stiletto all the men ; and, as to women 
" Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! The last 



THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 87 

words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, and 
away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pontine 
marshes. 

'^Holy Virgin!'' ejaculated the fair Venetian, ^^what 
will become of us!'' 5 

The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside 
of the walls of Terracina, under a vast precipitous height 
of rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodric 
the Goth.° The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It 
is a little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of lo 
the Roman territory. There seems to be an idle pause 
in every thing about the place. The Mediterranean 
spreads before it — that sea without flux or reflux. The 
port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a 
solitary felucca° may be seen disgorging its holy cargo 15 
of baccala, or codfish, the meagre provision for the qua- 
resima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a list- 
less, heedless race, as people of soft sunny climates are 
apt to be; but under this passive, indolent exterior are 
said to lurk dangerous qualities. They are supposed by 20 
many to be little better than the banditti of the neigh- 
boring mountains, and indeed to hold a secret corre- 
spondence with them. The solitary watch-towers, erected 
here and there, along the coast, speak of pirates and 
corsairs that hover about these shores ; while the low 25 
huts, as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road, 
as it winds up through an olive grove, intimate that in 
the ascent there is danger for the traveller, and facility 
for the bandit. Indeed, it is between this town and 
Fondi that the road to Naples ° is most infested by ban- 30 
ditti. It has several windings and solitary places, where 
the robbers are enabled to see the traveller from a 
distance, from the brows of hills or impending preci- 



88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

pices, and to lie in wait for him at lonely and difficult 
passes. 

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that 
have almost formed themselves into an order of society. 
5 They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which 
openly designates their profession. This is probably done 
to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to give it 
something of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show and 

I o finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, and 
thus to gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich 
and picturesque. They wear jackets and breeches of 
bright colors, sometimes gayly embroidered ; their breasts 
are covered with medals and relics ; their hats are broad- 

15 brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with feathers, 
or variously-colored ribands; their hair is sometimes 
gathered in silk nets ; they wear a kind of sandal of cloth 
or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and ex- 
tremely flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease 

20 and celerity among the mountain precipices ; a broad 
belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols 
and stilettos °; a carbine ° is slung at the back; while 
about them is generally thrown, in a negligent manner, 
a great dingy mantle, which serves as a protection in 

25 storms, or a bed in their bivouacs among the mountains. 
They range over a great extent of wild country, along 
the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states; 
they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for re- 
treat, and the impracticable forests of the mountain sum- 

30 mits, where no force dare follow them. They are secure 
of the good-will of the inhabitants of those regions, a 
poor and semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb 
and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 89 

of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and 
in certain frontier towns where they dispose of their 
plunder. Thus countenanced and sheltered, and secure 
in the fastnesses of their mountains, the robbers have set 
the weak police of the Italian states at defiance. It is 5 
in vain that their names and descriptions are posted on 
the doors of country churches, and rewards offered for 
them alive or dead; the villagers are either too much 
awed by the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by 
the brigands, ° or have too good an understanding with 10 
them to be their betrayers. It is true they are now and 
then hunted and shot down like beasts of prey by the 
gens-d^armes,° their heads put in iron cages, and stuck 
upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs hung up to 
blacken in the trees near the places where they have 15 
committed their atrocities; but these ghastly spectacles 
only serve to make some dreary pass of the road still 
more dreary, and to dismay the traveller, without deter- 
ring the bandit. 

At the time that the estafette made his sudden ap- 20 
pearance almost in cuerpo^ as has been mentioned, the 
audacity of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled 
height. They had laid villas under contribution; they 
had sent messages into country towns, to tradesmen and 
rich burghers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, 25 
or even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of 
refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every 
town, village, and inn, along the principal roads, to give 
them notice of the movements and quality of travellers. 
They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank and 30 
fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write 
for heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on fe- 
males who had fallen into their hands. 



90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or rather such 
was the account of the rumors prevalent concerning them, 
when the scene took place at the inn of Terracina. The 
dark, handsome young man and the Venetian lady, inci- 
5 dentally mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in 
a private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a 
single servant. They had been recently married, were 
spending the honeymoon in travelling through these 
delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich 

lo aunt of the bride at Naples. 

The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The 
stories she had heard along the road had filled her with 
apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband; 
for though she had been married almost a month, she 

15 still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached 
Terracina, the rumors of the road had increased to an 
alarming magnitude; and the sight of two robbers' 
skulls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gate- 
way of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband 

20 had tried in vain to reassure her; they had lingered all 
the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of 
starting that evening, and the parting words of the esta- 
fette completed her affright. 

^^Let us return to Rome,'' said she, putting her arm 

25 within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for 
protection. ^^Let us return to Rome, and give up this 
visit to Naples." 

^^And give up the visit to your aunt, too?'* said the 
husband. 

30 ^^Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your 
safety?" said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner that 
showed she really was thinking more of her husband's 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 91 

safety at the moment than of her own; and being so 
recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is 
very possible that she was ; at least her husband thought 
so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet musical 
tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a 5 
Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian 
eye, would not wonder at the husband ^s believing what- 
ever they professed. He clasped the white hand that 
had been laid within his, put his arm round her slender 
waist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom, ^^This night, 10 
at least, '^ said he, ^^we will pass at Terracina,^^ 

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! Another appa° 
rition of the road attracted the attention of mine host 
and his guests. From the direction of the Pontine ° 
marshes, a carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came 15 
driving at a furious rate; the postilions smacking their 
whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of the 
greatness or of the munificence of their fare. It was a 
landaulet° with a servant mounted on the dickey. The 
compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple construction 20 
of the carriage; the quantity of neat, well-arranged 
trunks and conveniences; the loads of box-coats on the 
dickey; the fresh, burly, bluff -looking face of the master 
at the window; and the ruddy, round-headed servant, in 
close-cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long 25 
gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage 
of an Englishman. 

^^ Horses to Fondi,^' said the EngHshman, as the land- 
lord came bowing to the carriage-door. 

'^ Would not his Excellenza alight, and take some 30 
refreshments ?'' 

^^No — he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi.'' 

^'But the horses will be some time in getting ready." 



92 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'^Ah! that^s always the way; nothing but delay in 
this cursed country !^^ 

^^If his Excellenza° would only walk into the house — " 

^'No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want nothing but 

5 horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the 

horses are got ready, and don^t let us be kept here an 

hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, 

I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster.'' 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's 
lo orders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. 
In the meantime the Englishman ° got out of the car- 
riage, and walked up and down before the inn, with his 
hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of 
idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He 
15 was tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness 
and precision ; v/ore a travelling cap of the color of ginger- 
bread; and had rather an unhappy expression about the 
corners of his mouth; partly from not having yet made 
his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get 
20 on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that 
he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's 
usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use 
the regular phrase, ^'to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a 
little sore from having been fleeced at every stage. 
25 After some time, the servant returned from the stable 
with a look of some perplexity. 
^^Are the horses ready, John?" 

^^No, sir — I never saw such a place. There's no get- 
ting any thing done. I think your honor had better step 
30 into the house and get something to eat ; it will be a 
long while before we get to Fundy." 

^'D n the house. It's a mere trick — I'll not eat 

any thing, just to spite them," said the EngHshman, still 



THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 93 

more crusty at the prospQct of being so long without his 
dinner. 

^^They say your honoris very wrong/' said John, ^'to 
set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen.'' 

^^Mere tales to get custom." 5 

^^The estafette which passed us was stopped by a 
whole gang/' said John, increasing his emphasis with 
each additional piece of information. 

^^I don't believe a word of it." 

^'They robbed him of his breeches/' said John, giving lo 
at the same time a hitch to his own waistband. 

^^AU humbug!" 

Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward, 
and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken 
English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about 15 
to make. 

'^Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands 
deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side-glance 
of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from 
his civility, he must have a design upon his purse. 20 

^^We shall be most happy, if you will do us the favor," 
said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a 
sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The 
Englishman cast a look upon her countenance; her 
beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly 25 
relaxed. He made a polite bow. ^^With great pleasure, 
Signora," said he. 

In short, the eagerness to "get on" was suddenly 
slackened; the determination to famish himself as far as 
Fondi, by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; 30 
John chose an apartment at the inn for his master's 
reception, and preparations were made to remain there 
until morning. 



94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as 
were indispensable for the night. There was the usual 
parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios and 
dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences 
5 which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers 
about the inn-door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored 
cloaks, with only a hawk^s-eye uncovered, made many 
remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage, that 
seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn 

lo talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with its 
gold and silver furniture, that was spread out on the 
toilet-table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was 
taken out of the trunk. The strange Milords wealth, and 
the treasures he carried about him, were the talk, that 

15 evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions 
and arrange his dress for table; and, after considerable 
labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his 
appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from 

20 the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He 
made a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing English 
way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the compli- 
mentary salutations of the Continent, considered ex- 
tremely cold. 

25 The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner^ 
as the Englishman called it, was now served: heaven 
and earth, and the waters under the earth, had been 
moved to furnish it; for there were birds of the air, and 
beasts of the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's 

30 servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his 
zeal to cook his master a beefsteak ; and made his appear- 
ance loaded with ketchup, and soy, and cayenne pepper, 
and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that 



THE INN AT TERBACINA 96 

warehouse, the carriage, in which his master seemed de- 
sirous of carrying England about the world with him. 
Indeed, the repast was one of those Italian farragoes 
which require a little qualifying. The tureen of soup 
was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and fragments 5 
of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like wrecks about 
it. A meagre-winged animal, which mine host called a 
delicate chicken, had evidently died of a consumption. 
The macaroni was smoked. The beefsteak was tough 
buffalo's flesh. There was what appeared to be a dish 10 
of stewed eels, of which the Englishman ate with great 
relish; but had nearly refunded them when told that 
they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Terracina, 
and esteemed a great delicacy. 

Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen sooner 15 
than eating, whatever may be the cookery; and nothing 
brings him into good-humor with his company sooner 
than eating together; the Englishman, therefore, had 
not half finished his repast and his bottle before he began 
to think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a for- 20 
eigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to be an 
Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast the usual topics of travellers 
were discussed, and among others the reports of robbers 
which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian. The land- 25 
lord and waiter dipped into the conversation with that 
familiarity permitted on the Continent, and served up 
so many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, that 
they almost frightened away the poor lady's appetite. 
The Englishman, who had a national antipathy to every 30 
thing technically cafled ''humbug," hstened to them all 
with a certain screw of the mouth, expressive of in- 
credulity. There was the well-known story of the school 



96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of Terracina, captured by the robbers; and one of the 
scholars cruelly massacred in order to bring the parents 
to terms for the ransom of the rest. And another of a 
gentleman of Rome, who received his son's ear in a letter, 
5 with information that his son would be remitted to him 
in this way, by instalments, until he paid the required 
ransom. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales, 
and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, 
lo doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was 
just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great Eng- 
lish lord and his family, when the Englishman, tired of 
his volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced these 
accounts to be mere travellers' tales, or the exaggerations 
15 of ignorant peasants and designing innkeepers. The land- 
lord was indignant at the doubt levelled at his stories, 
and the innuendo^ levelled at his cloth°; he cited, in 
corroboration, half a dozen tales still more terrible. 

"I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman. 
20 ^'But the robbers have been tried and executed!" 

^^ All a farce!" 

*' But their heads are stuck up along the road ! " 

'^Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at 
25 the door: ^^ San Gennarof quanta sono singolari questi 
Inglesi!°'' 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the 

arrival of more travellers; and, from the variety of 

voices, or rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the 

30 rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within 

and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. 

It was, in fact, the procaccio° and its convoy — a kind 
of caravan which sets out on certain days for the trans- 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 97 

portation of merchandise, with an escort of soldiery to 
protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves 
of its protection, and a long file of carriages generally 
accompany it. 

A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or 5 
waiter returned, being hurried hither and thither by that 
tempest of noise and bustle which takes place in an 
Italian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession 
of custom. When mine host reappeared there was a 
smile of triumph on his countenance. 10 

"Perhaps,'^ said he, as he cleared the table, "perhaps 
the signor has not heard of what has happened?" 

"What?'' said the Englishman, dryly. 

"Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh ex- 
ploits of the robbers." 15 

"Pish!" 

"There's more news of the English Milor and his 
family," said the host, exultingly. 

"An English lord? What English lord?" 

"Milor Popkin." 20 

"Lord Popkins? I never heard of such a title!" 

"O sicuro° ! a great nobleman, who passed through 
here lately with mi ladi and her daughters. A magnifico, 
one of the grand counsellors of London, an almanno ! " 

" Almanno — almanno ? — tut — he means alderman." 25 

"Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa 
Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ! " said mine host, 
triumphantly. 

He now put himself into an attitude, and would have 
launched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by 30 
the Englishman, who seemed determined neither to credit 
nor indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned for 
him to clear away the table. 



98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked; 
that of mine host continued to wag with increasing volu- 
bility, as he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the 
room; and the last that could be distinguished of his 
5 voice,, as it died away along the corridor, was the^iteration 
of the favorite word, Popkin — Pbpkin — Popkin — pop 
— pop — pop. 

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the 
house with stories, as it had with guests. The English- 

loman and his companions walked after supper up and 
down the large hall, or common room of the inn, which 
ran through the centre of the building. It was spacious 
and somewhat dirty, with tables placed in various parts, 
at which groups of travellers were seated; while others 

15 strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their 
evening ^s meal. 

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all 
ranks and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of 
vehicles. Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the 

20 travelling together, under one common escort, had 
jumbled them into a certain degree of companionship on 
the road; besides, on the Continent travellers are always 
familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups 
which gather casually together in sociable conversation in 

25 the public rooms of inns. 

The formidable numbers, and formidable guard of the 
procaccio had prevented any molestation from banditti; 
but every party of travellers had its tale of wonder, and 
one carriage vied with another in its budget .of assertions 

30 and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen 
peering over the rocks; carbines and stilettos gleaming 
from among the bushes; suspicious-looking fellows, with 
flapped hats and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon- 



THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 99 

noitred a straggling carriage, but had disappeared on 
seeing the guard. 

The fair Venetian Hstened to all these stories with 
that avidity with which w^e always pamper any feeling 
of alarm ; even thfe Englishman began to feel interested 5 
in the common topic, desirous of getting more correct 
information than mere flying reports. Conquering, there- 
fore, that shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman 
sohtary in crowds, he approached one of the talking 
groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with 10 
long aquiline ° nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent 
eye, beaming from under a green velvet travelling-cap, 
with gold tassel. He was of Rome, a surgeon by profes- 
sion, a poet by choice, and something of an improvisatore.° 

In the present instance, however, he was talking in 15 
plain prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one 
who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. A question 
or two from the Englishman drew copious replies, for an 
Englishman sociable among strangers is regarded as a 
phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated with 20 
attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave 
much the same account of the banditti that I have already 
furnished. 

"But why does not the police exert itself, and root 
them out?'' demanded the Englishman. 25 

"Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are 
too strong," replied the other. "To root them out 
would be a more difficult task than you imagine. They 
are connected and almost identified with the mountain 
peasantry and the people of the villages. The numerous 30 
bands have an understanding with each other, and with 
the country round. A gendarme cannot stir without 
their being aware of it. They have their scouts every- 



100 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

where, who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, mingle 
in every crowd, and pervade every place of resort. I 
should not be surprised if some one should be supervising 
us at this moment/' ° 
5 The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned 
pale. 

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively 
Neapolitan lawyer. 

'^By the way,'' said he, ^^I recollect a little adventure 

of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened 

lo in this very neighborhood, not far from the ruins of The- 

odric's Castle, which are on the top of those great rocky 

heights above the town." 

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure 
of the doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who, 
15 being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and 
accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, 
looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full 
career. ° The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 

My friend, the Doctor, was a thorough antiquary^; a 
Httle rusty, musty old fellow, always groping among 
ruins. He relished a building as you Englishmen relish 
a cheese, — the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the 
more it suited his taste. A shell of an old nameless 5 
temple, or the cracked walls of a broken-down amphi- 
theatre, would throw him into raptures; and he took 
more delight in these crusts and cheese-parings of antiq- 
uity than in the best-conditioned modern palaces. 

He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just 10 
gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his 
brain. He had picked up, for instance, several Roman 
Consulars,^ half a Roman As,° two Funics, ° which had 
doubtless belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal, ° having 
been found on the very spot where they had encamped 15 
among the Apennines. He had, moreover, one Samnite,° 
struck after the Social War, and a Fhilistis,^ a queen 
that never existed; but above all, he valued himself 
upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated in 
these matters, bearing a cross on one side and a pegasus 20 
on the other, and which, by some antiquarian logic, the 
Httle man adduced as an historical document, illustrating 
the progress of Christianity. 

All these precious coins he carried about him in a 
leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black 25 
breeches. 

lOX 



102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The last maggot he had taken into his brain was to 

hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi,° which are 

said to exist to this day among the mountains of the 

Abruzzi,° but about which a singular degree of obscurity 

5 prevails.^ He had made many discoveries concerning 

^ Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that of 
the existence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the Apen- 
nines; and many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, versed in 
antiquarian lore, at the richly wooded mountains of the Abruzzi, 

lo as a forbidden fairyland of research. These spots, so beauti- 
ful, yet so inaccessible, from the rudeness of their inhabitants 
and the hordes of banditti which infest them, are a region of fable 
to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy virtuoso, whose purse 
and whose consequence could command a military escort, has 

15 penetrated to some individual point among the mountains; 
and sometimes a wandering artist or student, under protection 
of poverty or insignificance, has brought away some vague ac- 
count, only calculated to give a keener edge to curiosity and con- 
jecture. 

20 By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, 
it is affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in 
the Peloponnesus ° gradually caused the expulsion thence of the 
Pelasgi; but that their great migration may be dated from the 
finishing the wall around the Acropolis, ° and that at this period 

25 they came to Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, they would 
ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into the country. 
It is evident, however, that, as barbarians flying before the first 
dawn of civilization, they could bring little with them superior 
to the inventions of the aborigines, and nothing that would have 

30 survived to the antiquarian through such a lapse of ages. It 
would appear more probable that these cities, improperly termed 
Pelasgian, were coeval with many that have been discovered. 
The romantic Aricia,° built by Hippolytus before the siege of 
Troy,° and the poetic Tibur,® Osculate, and Proenes, built by 

35 Telegonus® after the dispersion of the Greeks; — these, lying 
contiguous to inhabited and cultivated spots, have been dis- 
covered. There are others, too, on the ruins of which the later 
and more civilized Grecian colonists have ingrafted themselves, 
and which have become known by their merits or their medals. 

40 But that there are many still undiscovered, imbedded in the 
Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians to fancy. Strange 
that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown realm of 
knowledge, should at this day remain in the very centre of hack- 
neyed Italy ! 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 103 

them, and had recorded a great many valuable notes 
and memorandums on the subject, in a voluminous book, 
which he always carried about with him, either for the 
purpose of frequent reference or through fear lest the 
precious document should fall into the hands of brother 5 
antiquaries. He had, therefore, a large pocket in the 
skirt of his coat, where he bore about this inestimable 
tome,° banging against his rear as he walked. 

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, ° the 
good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted 10 
one day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to 
visit the castle of Theodric. He was groping about the 
ruins towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, 
his wits no doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and 
Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 15 

He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of 
rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half 
peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in their hands. 
Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt 
into what company he had fallen. 20 

The Doctor was a feeble Httle man, poor in look, and 
poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be 
robbed of; but then he had his curious ancient coin in 
his breeches-pocket. He had, moreover, certain other 
valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, 25 
with figures on it large enough for a clock; and a set of 
seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half-way down 
to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, being 
family rehcs. He had also a seal-ring, a veritable antique 
intaglio, ° that covered half his knuckle. It was a Venus, 30 
which the old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a 
voluptuary. But what he most valued was his inesti- 
mable collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian cities, 



104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

which he would gladly have given all the inoney in his 
pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in 
Terracina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout 
5 a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little 
man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a 
^'huon giornoJ' ° They returned his salutation, giving the 
old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his 
heart leap into his throat. 

lo They fell into conversation, and walked for some time 
together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them 
all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. 
At length they came to a small osteria° on the mountain, 
where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine 

15 together; the Doctor consented, though he would as 
soon have been invited to drink hemlock. ° 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the 
others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the 
corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto 

20 out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew 
benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and 
hailing the Doctor as though he had been a boon com- 
panion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down 
and making merry. 

25 The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but 
with fear and trembling; sitting uneasily on the edge of 
his chair; eying ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and 
cold, naked stilettos; and supping down heartburn with 
every drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed 

30 the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They 
sang, they laughed; told excellent stories of their rob- 
beries and combat, mingled with many ruffian jokes; 
and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut- 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 105 

throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at 
the very bottom of his bosom. 

By their own account, they were young men from the 
villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out 
of the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their mur- 5 
derous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements : 
to shoot down a traveller seemed of little more conse- 
quence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with 
rapture of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds; 
here to-day, gone to-morrow ; ranging the forests, climb- 10 
ing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own 
wherever they could lay hold of it ; full purses — merry 
companions — pretty women. The little antiquary got 
fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they did not 
spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal-ring, 15 
and his family watch °; even the treatise on the Pelasgian 
cities, which was warming under him, for a time faded from 
his memory in the glowing picture that they drew. He 
declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this 
robber mania among the mountains ; for he felt at the time, 20 
that, had he been a young man, and a strong man, and had 
there been no danger of the galleys ° in the background, he 
should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. 

At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor 
was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the 25 
robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his 
valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. ° 
He endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned; 
and drew from out his deep pocket, a long, lank, leathern 
purse, far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which 30 
a few coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement, and 
laying his hand UDon the antiquary's shoulder, ^^Harkee ! 



106 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Signer Dottore!^^ said he, ^^we have drunk together as 
friends and comrades; let us part as such. We under- 
stand you. We know who and what you are, for we 
know who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that 
5 puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you 
carry all your wealth in your head ; we cannot get at it, 
and we should not know what to do with it if we could. 
I see you are uneasy about your ring; but don't worry 
yourself, it is not worth taking ; you think it an antique, 

lo but it's a counterfeit — a mere sham.'' 

Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doctor forgot 
himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven 
and earth! his Venus a sham! Had they pronounced 
the wife of his bosom ^^no better than she should be," 

15 he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in 
vindication of his intaglio. 

^'Nay, nay," continued the robber, ^^we have no time 
to dispute about it; value it as you please. Come, you're 
a brave little old signor — one more cup of wine, and 

20 we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments — you shall 
not pay a grain — you are our guest — I insist upon it. 
So — now make the best of your way back to Terracina ; 
it's growing late. Buono viaggio f ° And harkee ! take 
care how you wander among these mountains, — you may 

25 not always fall into such good company." 

They shouldered their guns, sprang gayly up the rocks, 
and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoic- 
ing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his 
treatise unmolested; but still indignant that they should 

30 have pronounced his Venus an impostor. 

The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of im- 
patience during this recital. He saw his theme in dan- 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 107 

ger of being taken out of his hands, which to an able 
talker is always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is 
an absolute calamity; and then for it to be taken away 
by a Neapolitan was still more vexatious, — the inhabit- 
ants of the different Italian states having an implacable 5 
jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He 
took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to 
catch hold again of the thread of the conversation. 

^^As I observed before,^' said he, ^Hhe prowhngs of the 
banditti are so extensive; they are so much in league 10 
with one another, and so interwoven with various ranks 
of society '' 

^^For that matter,^' said the Neapolitan, ^^I have 
heard that your government has had some understand- 
ing with those gentry; or, at least, has winked at their 15 
misdeeds." 

^^My government?" said the Roman, impatiently. 

'^Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi° " 

*^Hush!" said the Roman, holding up his finger, and 
rolling his large eyes about the room. 20 

^^Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored 
in Rome," replied the Neapolitan, sturdily. ^'It was 
openly said that the Cardinal had been up to the moun- 
tains, and had an interview with some of the chiefs. And 
I have been told, moreover, that, while honest people 25 
have been kicking their heels in the CardinaFs ante- 
chamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of 
those stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his way through 
the crowd, and entered without ceremony into the Car- 
dinal's presence." 30 

^'I know," observed the improvisatore, "that there 
have been such reports, and it is not impossible that 
government may have made use of these men at particu- 



108 TALES OF A THAVElLER 

lar periods: such as at the time of your late abortive 
revolution, when your carbonari ° were so busy with their 
machinations all over the country. The information 
which such men could collect, who were familiar, not 
S merely with the recesses and secret places of the moun- 
tains, but also with the dark and dangerous recesses of 
society; who knew every suspicious character, and all 
his movements and all his lurkings; in a word, who 
knew all that was plotting in a world of mischief ; — the 

lo utility of such men as instruments in the hands of gov- 
ernment was too obvious to be overlooked; and Cardinal 
Gonsalvi, as a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have 
made use of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their 
atrocities, the robbers were always respectful towards the 

15 Church, and devout in their religion. '^ 

^'Religion! religion !^^ echoed the Enghshman. 
"Yes, religion, ^^ repeated the Roman. "They have 
each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and 
say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts, 

20 they hear the matin or the Ave-Maria bells sounding 
from the valleys; and will often descend from their 
retreats, and run imminent risks to visit some favorite 
shrine. I recollect an instance in point. 

"I was one evening in the village of Frascati,° which 

25 stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the 
Campagna,° just below the Abruzzi Mountains. The 
people, as is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns 
and villages, were recreating themselves in the open air, 
and chatting in groups in the public square. While I 

30 was conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall 
fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the 
square, but skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to 
avoid observation. The people drew back as he passed. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 109 

It was whispered to me that he was a notorious 
bandit/' 

^^But why was he not immediately seized ?'' said the 
EngHshman. 

^'Because it was nobody's business; because nobody 5 
wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades; because 
there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure security 
against the number of desperadoes he might have at 
hand; because the gendarmes might not have received 
particular instructions with respect to him, and might not 10 
feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict without 
compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand 
reasons rising out of the state of our government and 
manners, not one of which after all might appear satis- 
factory/' 15 

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of 
contempt. 

^^I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly, 
'Hhat even in your metropolis of London, notorious 
thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets 20 
at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested 
unless caught in the very act of robbery." 

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a dif- 
ferent expression. 

^^Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, thus 25 
prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. 
I was curious to witness his devotion. You know our 
spacious, magnificent churches. The one in which he 
entered was vast, and shrouded in the dusk of evening. 
At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers 30 
feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side 
chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of 
a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated 



110 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

himself. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders 
as he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean ° strength; a 
stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt; and the light 
falling on his countenance, showed features not unhand- 
5 some, but strongly and fiercely characterized. As he 
prayed, he became vehemently agitated ; his lips quivered ; 
sighs and murmurs, almost groans, burst from him ; he 
beat his breast with violence; then clasped his hands 
and wrung them convulsively, as he extended them 

lo towards the image. Never had I seen such a terrific 
picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered 
watching him, and v/ithdrew. Shortly afterwards I saw 
him issue from the church wrapped in his mantle. He 
recrossed the square, and no doubt returned to the 

15 mountains with a disburdened conscience, ready to incur 
a fresh arrear of crime. '^ 

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the con- 
versation, and had just preluded with the ominous 
remark, ^^That puts me in mind of a circumstance,'' 

20 when the improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to be 
again superseded, went on, pretending not to hear the 
interruption. ° 

"Among the many circumstances connected with the 
banditti, which serve to render the traveller uneasy and , 

25 insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes 
have with innkeepers. Many an isolated inn among the 
lonely parts of the Roman territories, and especially 
about the mountains, are of a dangerous and perfidious 
character. They are places where the banditti gather 

30 information, and where the unwary traveller, remote 
from hearing or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight 
dagger. The robberies committed at such inns are often 
accompanied by the most atrocious murders; for it is 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 111 

only by the complete extermination of their victims that 
the assassins can escape detection. I recollect an adven- 
ture/^ added he, ^^ which occurred at one of these solitary 
mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for 
robber anecdotes, may not be uninteresting/' 5 

Having secured the attention and awakened the curi- 
osity of the by-standers, he paused for a moment, rolled 
up his large eyes as improvisator! are apt to do when 
they would recollect an impromptu, ° and then related 
with great dramatic effect the following story, which had, lo 
doubtless, been well prepared and digested beforehand. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 

It was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by 
mules, slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the 
Apennines. It was through one of the wildest defiles, 
where a hamlet occurred only at distant intervals, perched 
5 on the summit of some rocky height, or the white towers 
of a convent peeped out from among the thick mountain 
foliage. The carriage was of ancient and ponderous con- 
struction. Its faded embellishments spoke of former 
splendor, but its. crazy springs and axle-trees creaked° 

lo out the tale of present decline. Within was seated a tall, 
thin old gentleman, in a kind of military travelling- 
dress, and a foraging-cap° trimmed with fur, though the 
gray locks which stole from under it hinted that his 
fighting days were over. Beside him was a pale, beauti- 

15 ful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a northern 
or Polish costume. One servant was seated in front, a 
rusty, crusty-looking fellow, with a scar across his face, 
an orange-tawny schnurhart, or pair of moustaches, 
bristling from under his nose, and altogether the air of 

20 an old soldier. 

It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman; a 
wreck of one of those princely families once of almost 
oriental magnificence, but broken down and impoverished 
by the disasters of Poland. The count, like many other 

25 generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of 

112 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 113 

patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his 
country. He had resided for some time in the first cities 
of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all 
his cares and pleasures were now centred. He had taken 
her into society, where her beauty and her accomplish- 5 
ments gained her many admirers; and had she not been 
the daughter of a poor broken-dowti Polish nobleman, it 
is more than probable many would have contended for 
her hand. Suddenly, however, her health became deli- 
cate and drooping ; her gayety fled with the roses of her 10 
cheek, and she sank into silence and debility. The old 
count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. 
^^We must try a change of air and scene,'' said he; and 
in a few days the old family-carriage was rumbling among 
the Apennines. 15 

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had 
been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. 
He had followed his master in all his fortunes : had fought 
by his side; had stood over him when fallen in battle; 
and had received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which 20 
added such grimness to his countenance. He was now 
his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. ° The 
only being that rivalled his master in his affections was 
his youthful mistress. She had grown up under his eye, 
he had led her by the hand when she was a child, and 25 
he now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent. 
Nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his 
blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for 
her good; and felt a parent's vanity at seeing her gazed 
at and admired. 30 

The evening was thickening; they had been for some 
time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, 
along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was 



114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the 
road, with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, 
and gazing down upon the travellers. They had between 
two and three leagues yet to go before they could reach 
5 any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old 
fellow, who had refreshed himself at the last halting- 
place, with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat 
singing and talking alternately to his mules, and suffer- 
ing them to lag on at a snaiFs pace, in spite of the fre- 
lo quent entreaties of the count and maledictions of Caspar. 

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the 
mountains, shrouding their summits from view. The air 
was damp and chilly. The count's solicitude on his 
daughter's account overcame his usual patience. He 
15 leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an 
angry tone. 

'^Forward!" said he. ^^It will be midnight before we 
arrive at our inn.'' 

^^ Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 
20 "Where?" demanded the count. 

"Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile 
about a quarter of a league distant. 

"That the place? — why, it looks more like a ruin 
than an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night 
25 at a comfortable village." 

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations 
and ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue 
of a delinquent muleteer. "Such roads ! and such moun- 
tains ! and then his poor animals were way-worn, and 
30 leg- weary ; they would fall lame ; they would never be 
able to reach the village. And then what could his Ex- 
cellenza wish for better than the inn; a perfect castella 
— a palazza — and such people ! — and such a larder ! 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 115 

— and such beds ! — His Excellenza might fare as sump- 
tuously, and sleep as soundly there as a prince ! ^^ 

The count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to 
get his daughter out of the night air; so in a little while 
the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gate- 5 
way of the inn. 

The building did certainly in some measure answer to 
the muleteer^s description. It was large enough for either 
castle or palace ; built in a strong, but simple and almost 
rude style ; with a great quantity of waste room. It had 10 
in fact been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of 
the Italian princes. There was space enough within its 
walls and out-buildings to have accommodated a little 
army. A scanty household seemed now to people this 
dreary mansion. The faces that presented themselves ^ 
on the arrival of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, 
and scowling in their expression. They all knew old 
Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he entered, 
singing and talking, and almost whooping, into the gate- 
way. 20 

The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the count 
and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They 
were conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then 
through a suite of chambers opening into each other, 
with lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across 25 
them. Every thing, however, had a wretched, squalid 
look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting that 
here and there hung some great painting, large enough 
for a chapel, and blackened out of all distinction. 

They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; the 3° 
inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive 
and misshapen; but on examining the beds so vaunted 
by old Pietro, they found them stuffed with fibres of 



116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

hemp knotted in great lumps. The count shrugged his 
shoulders, but there was no choice left. 

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones; 
and they were glad to return to a common chamber or 
5 kind of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern, 
miscalled a chimney. A quafitity of green wood, just 
thrown on, puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor- 
responded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was 
paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the 

lo centre, immovable from its size and weight. The only 
thing that contradicted this prevalent air of indigence 
was the dress of the hostess. She was a slattern^ of 
course; yet her garments, though dirty and negligent, 
were of costly materials. She wore several rings of great 

IS value on her fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round 
her neck was a string of large pearls, to which was attached- 
a sparkling crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, yet 
there was something in the expression of her counte- 
nance that inspired the young lady with singular aversion. 

20 She was officious and obsequious in her attentions, and 
both the count and his daughter felt relieved, when 
she consigned them to the care of the dark, sullen- 
looking servant-maid, and went off to superintend the 
supper. 

25 Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, 
either through negligence or design, subjected his master 
and mistress to such quarters; and vowed by his mous- 
taches to have revenge on the old varlet the moment 
they were safe out from among the mountains. He kept 

30 up a continual quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, 
which only served to increase the sinister expression with 
which she regarded the travellers, from under her strong 
dark eyebrows. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 117 

As to the count, he was a good-humored, passive 
traveller. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his 
spirit, and rendered him tolerant of many of those petty 
evils which make prosperous men miserable. He drew a 
large broken armchair to the fireside for his daughter, 5 
and another for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of 
tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to pro- 
duce a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by 
thicker puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good 
gentleman's patience. He would draw back, cast a look 10 
upon his delicate daughter, then upon the cheerless, 
squalid apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would 
give a fresh stir to the fire. 

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there 
is none greater than sulky attendance ; the good count 15 
for some time bore the smoke in silence rather than 
address himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length 
he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman 
retired muttering. On re-entering the room hastily, with 
an armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fell, and strik- 20 
ing her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple 
severely. 

The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled 
profusely. When she recovered, she found the count's 
daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up 25 
with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as 
any woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded, but 
perhaps there was something in the appearance of the 
lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones of her 
voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to 30 
be administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she 
was strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of 
the Polonaise, ° and pressed it fervently to her lips. 



118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

"May San Francesco watch over you, Signora!" ex- 
claimed she. 

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn; it was a 
Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court- 
5 yard was in an uproar, the house in a bustle. The land- 
lady hurried to attend such distinguished guests, and the 
poor count and his daughter, and their supper, were for 
a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered 
Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear, but 

lo it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority 
of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility 
of Spain. 

The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to 
the window just as the new-comers had alighted. A 

1 5 young cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed 
out the princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old 
lady, with a face of parchment and sparkling black eyes; 
she was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the 
assistance of a golden-headed cane as high as herself. 

2oThe young man was tall and elegantly formed. The 
count's daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though 
the deep frame of the window screened her from obser- 
vation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the case- 
ment. What that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it 

25 was at the contrast between the splendid equipage of the 
princess and the crazy rheumatic-looking old vehicle of 
her father, which stood hard by. Whatever might be the 
reason, the young lady closed the casement with a sigh. 
She returned to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over 

30 her delicate frame; she leaned her elbow on the arm of 
the chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, 
and looked mournfully into the fire. 

The count thought she appeared paler than usual. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 119 

"Does any thing ail thee, my child ?^' said he. 

"Nothing, dear father !^^ replied she, laying her hand 
within his, and looking up smiling in his face; but as 
she said so a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, 
and she turned away her head. 5 

"The air of the window has chilled thee,^^ said the 
count, fondly, "but a good night ^s rest will make all 
well again.'' 

The supper-table was at length laid, and the supper 
about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her lo 
usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new- 
comers; but the night air was cold, and there was no 
other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had 
scarcely made the apology when the princess entered, 
leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. 15 

The count immediately recognized her for a lady 
whom he had met frequently in society, both at Rome 
and Naples, and at whose conversaziones, ° in fact, he 
had been constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her 
nephew and heir, who had been greatly admired in the 20 
gay circles, both for his merits and prospects, and who 
had once been on a visit at the same time with his daughter 
and himself at the villa of a nobleman near Naples. 
Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. 

The meeting was agreeable to both the count and the 25 
princess. The former was a gentleman of the old school, 
courteous in the extreme; the princess had been a belle 
in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and 
liked to be attended to. 

The young man approached the daughter, and began 30 
something of a complimentary observation, but his man- 
ner was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an 
indistinct murmur; while the daughter bowed without 



120 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word, 
and sank again into her chair, where she sat gazing into 
the fire with a thousand varying expressions passing over 
her countenance. 
5 This singular greeting of the young people was not 
perceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the 
time with their own courteous salutations. It was ar- 
ranged that they should sup together ; and as the princess 
travelled with her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon 

lo smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted by 
choice wines, and liquors, and deUcious confitures^ 
brought from one of her carriages, for she was a veteran 
epicure, and curious in her relish for the good things of 
this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady, 

IS who mingled the woman of dissipation with the devotee. 
She was actually on her way to Loretto° to expiate a 
long life of gallantries and peccadilloes^ by a rich offering 
at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a luxuri- 
ous penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, 

20 with scrip and staff and cockle-shelP ; but then it would 
be unreasonable to expect such self-denial from people of 
fashion, and there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy 
of the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jewelled 
ornaments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the 

25 blessed Virgin. 

The princess and the count chatted much during sup- 
per about the scenes and society in which they had 
mingled, and did not notice that they had all the con- 
versation to themselves; the young people were silent 

30 and constrained. The daughter ate nothing in spite of 
the politeness of the princess, who continually pressed 
her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The count 
shook his head. 



THE BELATED THAVELLEMS l2l 

"She is not well this evening/' said he. "I thought 
she would have fainted just now as she was looking out 
of the window at your carriage on its arrival/' 

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the 
daughter ; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses 5 
cast a shade over her countenance. 

When supper was over they drew their chairs about 
the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had sub- 
sided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful 
warmth. A guitar, which had been brought from the 10 
count's carriage, leaned against the wall ; the princess 
perceived it. "Can we not have a little music before 
parting for the night?" demanded she. 

The count was proud of his daughter's accomplish- 
ment, and joined in the request. The young man made 15 
an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, pre- 
sented it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the fair 
musician. She would have declined it, but was too 
much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nervous and 
agitated that she dared not trust her voice to make an 20 
excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering 
hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself 
in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he 
sat gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in 
the room, partly through a fondness for the music of his 25 
native country, but chiefly through his pride in the 
musician. Indeed, the melody of the voice, and the 
delicacy of the touch, were enough to have charmed more 
fastidious ears. The little princess nodded her head and 
tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of 30 
time°; while the nephew sat buried in profound con- 
templation of a black picture on the opposite wall. 

"And now," said the count, patting her cheek fondly, 



122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

*^one more favor. Let the princess hear that little 
Spanish air you were so fond of. You can't think/' 
added he, 'Svhat a proficiency she has made in your 
language; though she has been a sad girl, and neglected 
5 it of late.'' 

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She 
hesitated, murmured something; but with sudden effort 
collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It 
was a Spanish romance, with something of love and 
lo melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great 
expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her voice 
went to the heart; but her articulation failed, her lips 
quivered, the song died away, and she burst into tears. 

The count folded her tenderly in his arms. ^^Thou 

15 art not well, my child,'' said he, ^^and I am tasking thee 

cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! '' 

She bowed to the company without raising her eyes, and 

glided out of the room. 

The count shook his head as the door closed. '^Some- 
20 thing is the matter with that child," said he, '^ which I 
cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. 
She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains 
to rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued 
he, ^^but I have seen much trouble in my family; and 
25 this poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and she used 
to be so lively " 

^' Maybe she's in love!" said the little princess, with 
a shrewd nod of the head. 

^'Impossible!" replied the good count, artlessly. 
30^' She has never mentioned a word of such a thing to 
me." 

How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the 
thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 123 

which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl 
scarcely breathes unto herself. 

The nephew of the princess rose abruptly and walked 
about the room. 

When she found herself alone in her chamber, the 5 
feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke 
forth with violence. She opened the casement that the 
cool air might blow upon her throbbing temples. Per- 
haps there was some little pride or pique mingled with 
her emotions ; though her gentle nature did not seem 10 
calculated to harbor any such angry inmate. 

''He saw me weep V^ said she, with a sudden mantling 
of the cheek, and a swelling of the throat, — ''but no 
matter ! — no matter ! '' 

And so saying, she threw her white arms across the 15 
window-frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned 
herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a 
revery, until the sound of her father^s and Casper's voices 
in the adjoining room gave token that the party had 
retired for the night. The lights gleaming from window 20 
to window showed that they were conducting the princess 
to her apartments, which were in the opposite wing of 
the inn; and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew 
as he passed one of the casements. 

She heaved a deep, hard-drawn sigh, and was about 25 
to close the lattice, when her attention was caught by 
words spoken below her window by two persons who 
had just turned an angle of the building. 

"But what will become of the poor young lady?'' 
said a voice, which she recognized for that of the servant- 30 
woman. 

"Pooh! she must take her chance," was the reply 
from old Pietro. 



124 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'^But cannot she be spared?'^ asked the other, en- 
treat! ngly ; '^ she's so kind-hearted ! '' 

'^Cospetto! what has got into thee?'' repHed the 
other, petulantly; ^^ would you mar the whole business 
5 for the sake of a silly girl?'' By this time they had got 
so far from the window that the Polonaise could hear 
nothing further. There was something in this fragment 
of conversation calculated to alarm. Did it relate to 
herself ? — and if so, what was this impending danger 

lofrom which it was entreated that she might be spared? 
She was several times on the point of tapping at her 
father's door, to tell him what she had heard, but she 
might have been mistaken; she might have heard indis- 
tinctly; the conversation might have alluded to some 

15 one else; at any rate, it was too indefinite to lead to any 
conclusion. While in this state of irresolution, she was 
startled by a low knock against the wainscot ° in a remote 
part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light, 
she beheld a small door there, which she had not before 

20 remarked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced, 
and demanded who knocked, and was answered in the 
voice of the female domestic. ° On opening the door, the 
woman stood before it pale and agitated. She entered 
softly, laying her finger on her lips in sign of caution 

25 and secrecy. 

^'Fly!" said she: ^' leave this house instantly, or 
you are lost !" 

The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an 
explanation. 

30 ^^I have no time," replied the woman, '^I dare not — 
I shall be missed if I linger here — but fly instantly, or 
you are lost." 

*'And leave my father?" 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 126 

"Where is he?" 

'^In the adjoining chamber." 

"Call him, then, but lose no time." 

The young lady knocked at her father^s door. He was 
not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and 5 
told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The 
count returned with her into the chamber, followed by 
Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the 
embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset 
by robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, 10 
when the attendants of the princess and the rest of the 
travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey. 

"But we can barricade the inn, we can defend our- 
selves," said the count. 

"What ! when the people of the inn are in league with 15 
the banditti?" 

"How then are we to escape? Can we not order out 
the carriage and depart?" 

"San Francesco! for what? to give the alarm that 
the plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers 20 
desperate, and bring them on you at once. They have 
had notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not 
easily let it escape them." 

"But how else are we to get off?" 

"There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, 25 
"from which the man has just dismounted who has been 
to summon the aid of part of the band at a distance." 

"One horse; and there are three of us!" said the 
count. 

"And the Spanish princess!" cried the daughter, 30 
anxiously. " How can she be extricated^ from the dan- 
ger?" 

"Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman, in 



126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sudden passion. ^'It is you I come to save, and you 
will betray me, and we shall all be lost! Hark!'' con- 
tinued she, ''I am called — I shall be discovered — one 
word more. This door leads by a staircase to the courtr 
5 yard. Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a 
small door leading out to the fields. You will find a 
horse there ; mount it ; make a circuit under the shadow 
of a ridge of rocks that you will see; proceed cautiously 
and quietly until you cross a brook, and find yourself on 

lothe road just where there are three white crosses nailed 
against a tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and 
make the best of your way to the village — but recollect, 
my life is in your hands — say nothing of what you have 
heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn.'' 

15 The woman hurried away. A short and agitated con- 
sultation took place between the count, his daughter, 
and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to 
have lost all apprehension for herself in her solicitude 
for the safety of the princess. '^To fly in selfish silence, 

20 and leave her to be massacred^ ! " — A shuddering seized 
her at the very thought. The gallantry of the count, 
too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn, 
his back upon a party of helpless travellers, and leave 
them in ignorance of the danger which hung over them. 

25 ''But what is to become of the young lady," said 
Caspar, ''if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a 
tumult? What may happen to her in a chance-medley 
affray?" 

Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; he looked 

30 upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the 
chance of her falling into the hands of ruffians. 

The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself. 
"The princess! the princess! — only let the princess 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 127 

know her danger/' She was wilHng to share it with 
her. 

At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful 
old servant. No time was to be lost — the first thing 
was to get the young lady out of danger. '^ Mount the 5 
horse/' said he to the count, ^Hake her behind you, and 
fly! Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and 
send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm tc 
the princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and I 
think we shall be able to stand siege until you send us 10 
aid.'' 

The daughter would again have insisted on staying 
with the princess 

'^For what!" said old Caspar, bluntly. '^You could 
do no good — you would be in the way; — we should 15 
have to take care of you instead of ourselves." 

There was no answering these objections; the count 
seized his j)istols, and taking his daughter under his 
arm, moved towards the staircase. The young lady 
paused, stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation 20 
— ^^ There is a young cavaher with the princess — her 
nephew — perhaps he may " 

■^I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old Cas- 
par, with a significant nod; ^^not a hair of his head shall 
suffer harm if I can help it." 25 

The young lady blushed deeper than ever; she had 
not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the 
blunt old servant. 

'^That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She 
would have added something, or made some explanation, 30 
but the moments were precious, and her father hurried 
her away. 

They found their way through the courtyard to the 



128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

small postern gate where the horse stood, fastened to a 
ring in the wall. The count mounted, took his daughter 
behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in 
the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many 
5 a fearful and anxious look did the daughter cast back 
upon the gloomy pile; the lights which had feebly 
twinkled through the dusky casements were one by one 
disappearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually 
sinking to repose; and she trembled with impatience, 

lo lest succor should not arrive until that repose had been 
fatally interrupted. 

They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the 
rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging 
shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place 

15 where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of 
some murder that had been committed there. Just as 
they had reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several 
men in the gloom coming down a craggy defile among 
the rocks. 

2o ^^Who goes there?'' exclaimed a voice. The count 
put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang for- 
ward and seized the bridle. The horse started back, 
and reared; and had not the young lady clung to her 
father, she would have been thrown off. The count 

25 leaned forward, put a pistol to the very head of the 
ruffian, and fired. The latter fell dead. The horse 
sprang forward. Two or three shots were fired, which 
whistled by the fugitives, but only served to augment 
their speed. They reached the village in safety. 

30 The whole place was soon roused; but such was the 
awe in which the banditti were held, that the inhabitants 
shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate 
band had for some time infested that pass through the 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 129 

mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being 
one of those horrible places where the unsuspicious way- 
farer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich 
ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had 
excited heavy suspicions. Several instances had occurred 5 
of small parties of travellers disappearing mysteriously 
on that road, who, it was supposed at first, had been 
carried off by the robbers for the purpose of ransom, 
but who had never been heard of more. Such were the 
tales buzzed^ in the ears of the count by the villagers, 10 
as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of the 
princess and her train from their perilous situation. The 
daughter seconded the exertions of her father with all 
the eloquence of prayers, and tears, and beauty. Every 
moment that elapsed increased her anxiety, until it be- 15 
came agonizing. Fortunately there was a body of gen- 
darmes resting at the village. A number of the young 
villagers volunteered to accompany them, and the little 
army was put in motion. The count having deposited 
his daughter in a place of safety, was too much of the 20 
old soldier not to hasten to the scene of danger. It 
would be difficult to paint the anxious agitation of the 
young lady while awaiting the result. 

The party arrived at the inn just in time. The rob- 
bers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers 25 
prepared for their reception, had become open and furious 
in their attack. The princesses party had barricaded 
themselves in one suite of apartments, and repulsed the 
robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown 
the generalship ° of a veteran, and the nephew of the 30 
princess the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their 
ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they 
would have found it difficult to hold out much longer, 



130 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

when a discharge from the musketry of the gendarmes 
gave them the joyful tidings of succor. 

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were sur- 
prised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn; 
5 while their comrades made desperate attempts to relieve 
them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and 
thickets. 

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the 
fight, as I have heard it related in a variety of ways, 
lo Suffice it to say, the robbers were defeated, several of 
them killed, and several taken prisoners, which last, 
together with the people of the inn, were either executed 
or sent to the galleys. 

I picked up these particulars in the course of a journey 
15 which I made some time after the event had taken place. 
I passed by the very inn. It was then dismantled, ex- 
cepting one wing, in which a body of gendarmes was 
stationed. They pointed out to me the shot-holes in the 
window-frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. 
20 There were a number of withered limbs dangling from 
the branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening in 
the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers 
who had been slain, and the culprits who had been exe- 
cuted. The whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 
25 ''Were any of the princesses party killed ? '* inquired the 
Englishman. 

''As far as I can recollect, there were two or three.'' 

".Not the nephew, I trust?'' said the fair Venetian. 

"Oh no; he hastened with the count to. relieve the 

30 anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. 

The young lady had been sustained through the interval 

of suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The 

moment she saw her father returning in safety, accom- 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS l3l 

panied by the nephew of the princess, she uttered a cry 
of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon 
recovered, and what is more, was married shortly after- 
wards to the young cavalier ; and the whole party accom- 
panied the old princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, where 5 
her votive ° offerings may still be seen in the treasury of 
the Santa Casa/^° 

It would be tedious to follow the devious course of 
the conversation as it wound through a maze of stories 
of the kind, until it was taken up by two other travellers 10 
who had come under convoy of the procaccio : Mr. 
Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer, 
just returning from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy 
Land. They were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. 
They were astonished that the robbers should dare to 15 
molest a man of his importance ° on 'Change, he being 
an eminent dry-salter of Throgmorton Street, and a 
magistrate to boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too 
true. It was attested by too many present to be for a 20 
moment doubted; and from the contradictory and con- 
cordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it, 
and all talking at the same time, the Englishman was 
enabled to gather the following particulars. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 

It was but a few days before, that the carriage of 
Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. 
Those who have seen an EngHsh family-carriage on the 
Continent must have remarked the sensation it produces. 
5 It is an epitome of England ; a little morsel of the old 
island rolling about the world. Every thing about it com- 
pact, snug, finished, and fitting. The wheels turning on 
patent axles without rattling ; the body, hanging so well on 
its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from 

lo every shock ; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows, 
— sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a 
voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoy- 
den just from boarding-school. And then the dickeys 
loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff, 

15 looking down from their heights with contempt on all the 
world around; profoundly ignorant of the country and 
the people, and devoutly certain that every thing not 
English must be wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made 

20 its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had pre- 
ceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had 
given a magnificent account of the richness and greatness 
of his master; blundering with an Italian's splendor of 
imagination about the Alderman's titles and dignities. 

25 The host had added his usual share of exaggeration^ ; so 

132 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 133 

that by the time the Alderman drove up to the door, he 
was a Milor — Magnifico — Principe — the Lord knows 
what ! 

The Alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi 
and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man^s life 5 
was worth, he said, to stop him on the king^s highway: 
he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples; 
he would make a national affair of it. The Principessa 
Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure 
in the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man 10 
in the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine bouncing 
girls, looked to their brother Tom who had taken lessons 
in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no 
scaramouch^ of an Itahan robber would dare to meddle 
with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, 15 
and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian 
grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places 
without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were 
very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water-colors, 20 
were enchanted with the savage scenery around; it was 
so like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliff^s romances; 
they should like, of all things, to make sketches. At 
length the carriage arrived at a place where the road 
wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a 25 
sleep ; the young ladies were lost in the ^^ Loves of the 
Angels '' ; and the dandy was hectoring^ the postilions 
from the coach-box. The Alderman got out, as he said, 
to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding 
ascent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and 30 
blow and wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and 
phew ! being rather pursy and short of wind. As the 
carriage, however, was far behind him, and moved slowly 



134 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks, and 
well-stuffed° travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at 
leisure. 

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, 
5 nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the road 
began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, 
who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins 
was one of your shrewd travellers who always like to be 
picking up small information along the road; so he 

I ©thought he^d just scramble up to the honest man, and 
have a little talk with him by way of learning the news 
and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the 
peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly 
reclining on the rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle, 

IS which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy 
visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce 
moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times to 
his dog, which was roving about the side of the hill. As 
the Alderman approached, he arose and greeted him. 

20 When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at 
least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, 
being a short man, might be deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in the 
carriage, or even on ^Change in London; for he was by 

25 no means well pleased with his company. However, he 
determined to put the best face on matters, and was 
beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, 
the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in 
that part of the country, when he heard a violent scream- 

30 ing. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, 
beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held 
down the fat footman, another had the dandy by his 
starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rum- 



ADVENTURE OF THE POP KINS FAMILY 135 

maging a portmanteau, ° another rummaging the Princi- 
pessa^s pockets; while the two Misses Popkins were 
screaming from each window of the carriage, and their 
waiting-maid squalhng^ from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and s 
the magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, 
and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks 
either to assault the robbers or read the riot act,° when 
he was suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend 
the goatherd, whose cloak falling open discovered a belt lo 
stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found 
himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who 
had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travel- 
lers and to give notice to his men. 

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned 15 
inside out, and all the finery and frippery of the Popkins 
family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice 
beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the 
young ladies, mingled with the Alderman's nightcaps and 
lambs' wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, 20 
stays, and starched cravats. 

The gentlemen were eased of° their purses and their 
watches, the ladies of their jewels; and the whole party 
were on the point of being carried up into the mountain, 
when fortunately the appearance of soldiers at a short 25 
distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils 
they had secured, and leave the Popkins family to gather 
together the remnants of their effects, and make the best 
of their way to Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the Alderman made a terrible 3° 
blustering at the inn; threatened to complain to the 
ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane 
at the whole country. The dandy had many stories to 



136 TALJES OF A TRAVELLER 

tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered 
him merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, 
they were quite delighted with the adventure, and were, 
occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. 
5 They declared the captain of the band to be a most 
romantic-looking man, they dared to say some unfor- 
tunate lover or exiled nobleman; and several of the 
band to be very handsome young men — ^^ quite pic- 
turesque°!'^ 
lo ^^In verity,^' said mine host of Terracina, ^'they say 
the captain of the band is un gallant uomoJ^ 

"A gallant man!^' said the Englishman, indignantly: 
^'I^d have your gallant man hanged like a dog!^' 

"To dare to meddle with Englishmen!'' said Mr. 
isHobbs. 

"And such a family as the Popkinses!'' said Mr. 
Dobbs. 

"They ought to come upon the country for damages !'' 
said Mr. Hobbs. 
20 "Our ambassador should make a complaint to the 
government of Naples,'' said Mr. Dobbs. 

"They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of 
the country," said Hobbs. 

"And if they did not, we should declare war against 
25 them," said Dobbs. 

" Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Englishman to him- 
self, and walked away.° 

The Englishman had been a little wearied by this 
story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was 
30 glad when a summons to their supper relieved him from - 
the crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Vene- 
tian friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting 



ADVENTURE OF THE POP KINS FAMILY 137 

demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the 
course of the conversation. They directed their steps 
towards the sea, which was ht up by the rising moon. 

As they strolled along the beach they came to where 
a party of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were 5 
guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted 
to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and sport 
and roll upon the sand. 

The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of 
wretches at their sports. "It is difficult,'^ said he, "to 10 
conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here col- 
lected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such 
as you have heard described. Such is, too often, the 
career of crime in this country. The parricide, the frat- 
ricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first 15 
flies from justice and turns mountain bandit; and then, 
when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his 
brother desperadoes; betrays them to punishment, and 
thus buys a commutation of his own sentence from death 
to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of wallowing ° on 20 
the shore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal 
enjoyment.^' 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the 
horde of wretches at their evening amusement. "They 
seemed,'^ she said, "like so many serpents writhing to- 25 
gether.^' And yet the idea that some of them had been 
robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her im- 
agination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as 
we contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a degree 
of awe and horror, even though caged and chained. 30 

The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti 
which they had heard at the inn. The Englishman con- 
demned some of them as fabrications, others as exag- 



138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

gerations.° As to the story of the improvisatore, he 
pronounced it a mere piece of romance, originating in the 
heated brain of the narrator. 

^^And yet/^ said the Frenchman, 'Hhere is so much 
5 romance about the real Ufe of those beings, and about 
the singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell 
what to reject on the ground of improbability. I have 
had an adventure happen to myself which gave me an 
opportunity of getting some insight into their manners 

lo and habits, which I found altogether out of the common 
run of existence.'' 

There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty 
about the Frenchman which had gained the good-will of 
the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. 

15 They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the cir- 
cumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly up 
and down the sea-shore he related the following adventure. ° 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 

In the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina. 
The procaccio had departed at daybreak on its route 
towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, 
and the departure of an English equipage is always 
enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion 5 
there was more than usual stir, for the Englishman, hav- 
ing much property about him, and having been convinced 
of the real danger of the road, had applied to the police, 
and obtained, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight 
dragoons^ and twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi. 10 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation 
at bottom, though to say the truth, he had nothing of it 
in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and reserved 
as usual, among the gaping crowd; gave laconic orders 
to John, as he packed away the thousand and one indis- 15 
pensable conveniences of the night; double loaded his 
pistols with great sang-froid,^ and deposited them in the 
pockets of the carriage — taking no notice of a pair of 
keen eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loiter- 
ing idlers. 20 

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made 
in her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage 
to proceed under protection of his escort. The English- 
man, who was busy loading another pair of pistols for 
his servant, and held the ramrod between his teeth 25 

139 



140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

nodded assent, as a matter of course, but without lifting 
up his eyes. The fair Venetian was a httle piqued at 
what she supposed indifference: — ^^0 Dio!^^ ejaculated 
she softly as she retired; " Quanta sono insensibili questi 
5 Inglesi.''° 

At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight 
dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot-soldiers 
marching in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the 
centre, to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. 

10 They had proceeded but a few hundred yards, when it 
was discovered that some indispensable article had been 
left behind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, 
and John was dispatched to the inn to search for it. 
This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the 

15 Venetians drove slowly on. John came back out of 
breath and out of humor. The purse was not to be 
found. His master was irritated; he recollected the 
very place where it lay; he had not a doubt the Italian 
servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. 

20 He returned once more without the purse, but with the 
landlord and the whole household at his heels. A thou- 
sand ejaculations and protestations, accompanied by all 
sorts of grimaces and contortions — ^^No purse had been 
seen — his Excellenza must be mistaken. '^ 

25 ^^No — his Excellenza was not mistaken — the purse 
lay on the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse, 
half full of gold and silver.'' Again a thousand grimaces 
and contortions, and vows by San Gennaro, that no purse 
of the kind had been seen. 

30 The Englishman became furious. ^^The waiter had 
pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn a 
den of thieves — it was a vile country — he had been 
cheated and plundered from one end of it to the 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 141 

other — but he^d have satisfaction — he'd drive right 
off to the poKce.^' 

He was on the point of ordering the postiHons to turn 
back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the 
carriage, and the purse of money fell clinking to the 5 
floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. 
'^ Curse the purse,'' said he, as he snatched it up. He 
dashed a handful of money on the ground before the pale 
cringing waiter, — ^^ There, be off!" cried he. ^^ John, 10 
order the postilions to drive on." 

About half an hour had been exhausted in this alter- 
cation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along; its 
passengers looking out from time to time, and expecting 
the escort every moment to follow. They had gradually 15 
turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. 
The little army was again in motion, and made a very 
picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom 
of the rocks; the morning sunshine beaming upon the 
weapons of the soldiery. 20 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with 
himself at what had passed, and consequently out of 
humor with all the world. As this, however, is no un- 
common case with gentlemen who travel for their pleas- 
ure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They had wound up 25 
from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the 
road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 

^^I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, 
leaning down from the coach-box. 

^^Pish!" said the Englishman, testily^; ^^ don't plague 30 
me about the lady's carriage; must I be continually 
pestered with the concerns of strangers?" John said not 
another word, for he understood his master's mood. 



142 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The road grew more wild and gloomy; they were 
slowly proceeding on° a foot-pace up a hill ; the dragoons 
were some distance ahead, and had just reached the 
summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, 
5 or rather shout, and galloped forward. The Englishman 
was roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his 
head from the carriage, which had attained the brow of 
the hill. Before him extended a long hollow defile, com- 
manded on one side by rugged precipitous heights, 

lo covered with bushes of scanty forest. At some distance 
he beheld the carriage of the Venetians overturned. A 
numerous gang of desperadoes^ were rifling it; the 
young man and his servant were overpowered, and partly 
stripped; and the lady was in the hands of two of the 

15 ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from 
the carriage, and called upon John to follow him. 

In the meantime, as the dragoons came forward, the 
robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their 
spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and 

20 taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, 
another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment 
checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded 
again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their 
carbines, but without apparent effect. They received 

25 another volley, which, though none fell, threw them again 
into confusion. The robbers were loading a second time 
when they saw the foot-soldiers at hand. '^ Scampa 
via ! '^ ° was the word : they abandoned their prey, and 
retreated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. They 

30 fought from chff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers 
turning every now and then to fire upon their pursuers; 
the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their 
muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 143 

soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling 
among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below, 
whenever a robber came in sight. 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, 
and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled 5 
past him as he advanced. One object, however, en- 
grossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian 
lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who, during the 
confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up the moun- 
tain. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and 10 
he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers, as they 
bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep, and 
the entanglement of the bushes, delayed and impeded 
him. He lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by 
her cries, which grew fainter and fainter. They were off 15 
to the left, while the reports of muskets showed that the 
battle was raging to the right. At length he came upon 
what appeared to be a rugged foot-path, faintly worn in 
a gulley° of the rocks, and beheld the ruffians at some 
distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them 20 
hearing his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards 
him, and levelling the carbine which had been slung on 
his back, fired. The ball whizzed through the English- 
man's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He re- 
turned the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber 25 
fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and 
drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary 
with deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left 
arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Eng- 
lishman advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, 30 
which wounded the robber, but not severely. 

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his ad- 
versary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight 



144 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wound, and defended himself with his pistol, which had 
a spring bayonet. They closed with one another, and a 
. desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square- 
built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. The 
5 Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, 
was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exercises 
and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised 
and skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy 
height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist 

lowas striving to press him to the edge. A side-glance 
showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, 
scrambling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto 
in hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the 
cliff, he was within a few steps, and the Englishman felt 

15 that his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the 

report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came 

from John, who had arrived just in time to save his 

master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and 

20 the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. 
The Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him, 
and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from 
the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying 
motionless among the rocks below. 

25 The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He 
found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's 
assistance he bore her down to the road, where her hus- 
band was raving like one distracted. He had sought 
her in vain, and had given her over for lost; and when 

30 he beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was 
equally wild and ungovernable. He would have caught 
her insensible form to his bosom had not the Englishman 
restrained him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 145 

a true tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would 
not have expected from his habitual phlegm. ° His kind- 
ness, however, was practical, not wasted in words. He 
dispatched John to the carriage for restoratives of all 
kinds, and, totally thoughtless of himself, was anxious 5 
only about his lovely charge. The occasional discharge 
of firearms along the height showed that a retreating 
fight was still kept up by the robbers. The lady gave 
signs of reviving animation. The Englishman, eager to 
get her from this place of danger, conveyed her to his 10 
own carriage, and, committing her to the care of her 
husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them to Fondi. 
The Venetian would have insisted on the Englishman's 
getting into the carriage; but the latter refused. He 
poured forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions; but 15 
the Englishman beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 

John now dressed his master's wounds, which were 
found not to be serious, though he was faint with loss of 
blood. The Venetian carriage had been righted, and the 
baggage replaced; and, getting into it, they set out on 20 
their way towards Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still 
engaged in ferreting out the banditti. 

Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian had com- 
pletely recovered from her swoon. She made the usual 
question, — 25 

^^Wherewasshe?" 

"In the Englishman's carriage." 

"How had she escaped from the robbers?'' 

"The Englishman had rescued her.'' 

Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled with 30 
them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her 
deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself for 
having accused him of coldness and insensibility. The 



146 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

moment she saw him, she rushed into his arms with the 
vivacity of her nation, and hung about his neck in a 
speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man more 
embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 
5 '^ Tut ! — tut ! '' said the Enghshman. 

"You are wounded !^^ shrieked the fair Venetian, as 
she saw blood upon his clothes. 

"Pooh! nothing at all!'' 

"My deliverer! my angel!'' exclaimed she, clasping 
lo him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. 

" Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-humored 
tone, but looking somewhat foolish, "this is all humbug." 

The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused 
the English of insensibility. 



PART FOURTH 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS 

Found among the Papers of the Late 
DiEDRicH Knickerbocker 

Now I remember those old women^s words, 
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure hath been hid. 

— Marlow's Jew of Malta, 



PART FOURTH 
THE MONEY-DIGGERS ° 

HELL-GATE 

About six miles from the renowned city of the Man- 
hattoes,° in that Sound or arm of the sea which passes 
between the mainland and Nassau, or Long Island, there 
is a narrow strait, where the current is violently com- 
pressed between shouldering promontories, and horribly 5 
perplexed^ by rocks and shoals. Being, at the best of 
times, a very violent, impetuous current, it takes these 
impediments in mighty dudgeon; boiling in whirlpools; 
brawling and fretting in ripples; raging and roaring in 
rapids and breakers ; and, in short, indulging in all kinds 10 
of wrong-headed paroxysms. At such times, woe to any 
unlucky vessel that ventures within its clutches. 

This termagant humor, however, prevails only at cer- 
tain times of tide. At low-water, for instance, it is as 
pacific a stream as you would wish to see; but as the 15 
tide rises, it begins to fret; at half-tide it roars with 
might and main, like a bull bellowing for more drink; 
but when the tide is full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a 
time, sleeps as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In 
fact, it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who is 20 
a peaceful fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, 

149 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

or when he has a skinful! ; but who, when half-seas over, 
plays the very devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little 
strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the 
5 Dutch navigators of ancient days ; hectoring their tub- 
built barks in a most unruly style; whirling them about 
in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, and 
not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs, 
as it did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer, ° 

lo when seeking a place to found the city of the Manhattoes. 
Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it 
Helle-gat, and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This 
appellation has since been aptly rendered into English 
by the name of Hell-gate, and into nonsense by the name 

IS of Hurl-gSite, according to certain foreign intruders, who 
neither understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicho- 
las° confound them ! 

This strait of Hell-gate was a place of great awe and 
perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been 

'20 much of a navigator on those small seas, and having 
more than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning 
in the course of certain holiday voyages, to which, in com- 
mon with other Dutch urchins, ° I was rather prone. 
Indeed, partly from the name, and partly from various 

25 strange circumstances connected with it, this place had 
far more terrors in the eyes of my truant companions 
and myself than had Scylla and Charybdis° for the navi- 
gators of yore. 

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of 

30 rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck 
of a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools 
and stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told 
to us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of 



HELL -GATE 151 

bloody murder, which I cannot now recollect, but which 
made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in 
our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn 
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were 
enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timber- 5 
heads, blackened by time, just peered above the surface 
at high- water ; but at low-tide a considerable part of the 
hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, partly stripped 
of their planks, and dripping with sea-weeds, looked like 
the huge skeleton of some sea-monster. There was lo 
also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks 
swinging about and whistling in the wind, while the sea- 
gull wheeled and screamed around the melancholy car- 
cass. ° I have a faint recollection of some hobgoblin tale 
of sailors^ ghosts being seen about this wreck at night, 15 
with bare skulls, and blue lights in their sockets instead of 
eyes, but I have forgotten all the particulars. 

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the 
straits of Pelorus^ of yore, a region of fable and romance 
to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders 20 
of the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and 
indented by rocky nooks overhung with trees, which give 
them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my boy- 
hood, they abounded with traditions about pirates, ghosts, 
smugglers, and buried money, which had a wonderful 25 
effect upon the young minds of my companions and 
myself. 

As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent re- 
search after the truth of these strange traditions; for I 
have always been a curious investigator of the valuable 30 
but obscure branches of the history of my native province. 
I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any precise 
information. In seeking to dig up one fact, it is incredible 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the number of fables that I unearthed. I will say nothing 
of the deviFs stepping-stones, by which the arch-fiend 
made his retreat from Connecticut to Long Island, across 
the Sound; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly 
5 treated by a worthy friend and contemporary historian, ° 
whom I have furnished with particulars thereof.^ Neither 
will I say any thing of the black man in a three-cornered 
hat, seated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be 
seen about Hell-gate in stormy weather, and who went by 

lothe name of the pirate ^s spuke (i.e.^ pirate^s ghost), and 
whom, it is said, old Governor Stuyvesant once shot with 
a silver bullet; because I never could meet with any 
person of stanch credibility who professed to have seen 
this spectrum, unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen, 

15 the blacksmith, of Frogsneck° ; but then, poor woman, 
she was a little purblind, ° and might have been mistaken; 
though they say she saw farther than other folks in the 
dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard 

20 to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about which 
I was most curious ; and the following is all that I could, 
for a long time, collect, that had any thing like an air of 
authenticity. ° 

^ For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil 
and his stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before the 
New York Historical Society, since the death of Mr. Knicker- 
bocker, by his friend, an eminent jurist of the place. 



KIDD° THE PIRATE 

In old times, just after the territory of the New Nether- 
lands had been wrested from the hands of their High 
Mightinesses, the Lords States-General of Holland, by 
King Charles the Second, and while it was as yet in an 
unquiet state, the province was a great resort of random 5 
adventurers, loose livers, and all that class of hap-hazard 
fellows who live by their wits and dislike the old-fashioned 
restraint of law and gospel. ° Among these, the foremost 
were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, 
who perhaps in time of war had been educated in those 10 
schools of piracy, the privateers°; but having once tasted 
the sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hankering after 
it. There is but a slight step from the privateersman 
to the pirate ; both fight for the love of plunder ; only that 
the latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and 15 
the gallows. 

But in whatever school they had been taught, the 
buccaneers ° that kept about the English colonies were 
daring fellows, and made sad work in times of peace among 
the Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. The 20 
easy access to the harbor of the Manhattoes, the number 
of hiding-places about its waters, and the laxity of its 
scarcely organized government, made it a great rendez- 
vous of the pirates; where they might dispose of their 
booty, and concert ° new depredations. As they brought 25 

153 



154 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

home with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries 
of the tropics, and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish 
provinces, and disposed of them with the proverbial care- 
lessness of free-booters,° they were welcome visitors to 
5 the thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews of these 
desperadoes, therefore, the runagates of every country 
and every clime, might be seen swaggering in open day 
about the streets of the little burgh, elbowing its quiet 
mynheers, trafficking away their rich outlandish plunder 

lo at half or quarter price to the wary merchant, and then 
squandering their prize-money in taverns, drinking, 
gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, and astound- 
ing the neighborhood with midnight brawl and ruffian 
revelry. 

15 At length these excesses rose to such a height as to be- 
come a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for the 
interposition of government. Measures were accordingly 
taken to put a stop to the widely extended evil, and to 
ferret this vermin brood out of the colonies. 

20 Among the agents employed to execute this purpose was 
the notorious Captain Kidd. He had long been an equivo- 
cal character; one of those nondescript animals of the 
ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was 
somewhat of a trader, something more of a smuggler, with 

25 a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had traded for 
many years among the pirates, in a little rakish, mos- 
quito-built vessel, that could run into all kinds of waters. 
He knew all their haunts and lurking-places, was always 
hooking about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy 

30 as a Mother Cary^s chicken^ in a storm. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by govern- 
ment as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon the 
good old maxim of ^^ setting a rogue to catch a rogue''; 



KIDD THE PIRATE 155 

or as otters are sometimes used to catch their cousins- 
german, the fish. 

Kidd accordingly sailed for New York in 1695, in a 
gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley, well armed and 
duly commissioned. On arriving at his old haunts, 5 
however, he shipped his crew on new terms, enlisted a 
number of his old comrades, lads of the knife and pistol, 
and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruising against 
the pirates, he turned pirate himself, steered to the Ma- 
deiras, ° to Bona vista, ° and Madagascar, ° and cruised about 10 
the entrance to the Red Sea. Here, among other mari- 
time robberies, he captured a rich Quedah° merchantman, 
manned by Moors, though commanded by an English- 
man. Kidd would fain have passed this off for a worthy 
exploit, as being a kind of crusade against the infidels; 15 
but government had long since lost all relish for such 
Christian triumphs. 

After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and chang- 
ing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to return 
to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swaggering 20 
companions at his heels. 

Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could 
no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. 
The new governor, Lord Bellamont, had signalized him- 
self by his zeal in extirpating these offenders; and was 25 
doubly exasperated against Kidd, having been instru- 
mental in appointing him to the trust which he had be- 
trayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show himself in 
Boston, than the alarm was given of his reappearance, 
and measures were taken to arrest this cutpurse° of the 30 
ocean. The" daring character which Kidd had acquired, 
however, and the desperate fellows who followed like 
bull-dogs at his heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. 



156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He took advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater 
part of his treasures, and then carried a high head about 
the streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend him- 
self when arrested, but was secured and thrown into 
5 prison, with his followers. Such was the formidable 
character of this pirate and his crew, that it was thought 
advisable to dispatch a frigate to bring them to England. 
Great exertions were made to screen^ him from justice, 
but in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, condemned, 

10 and hanged at Execution Dock in London. Kidd died 
hard, for the rope with which he was first tied up broke 
with his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. He was 
tied up a second time, and more effectually ; hence came, 
doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a charmed life and 

15 that he had to be twice hanged. 

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history; but it has 
given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. 
The report of his having buried great treasures of gold 
and jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the good 

20 people along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors 
on rumors of great sums of money found here and there, 
sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in another ; 
of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubtless the spoils of 
his eastern prizes, but which the common people looked 

25 upon with superstitious awe, regarding the Moorish letters 
as diabolical or magical characters. 

Some reported the treasure to have been buried in 
sohtary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; 
but by degrees various other parts, not only on the eastern 

30 coast, but along the shores of the Sound, and even of Man- 
hattan and Long Island, were gilded by these rumors. 
In fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont spread 
sudden consternation among the buccaneers in every part 



KIDD TBE PIRATE 167 

of the provinces : they secreted their money and jewels in 
lonely out-of-the-way places, about the wild shores of the 
rivers and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over the 
face of the country. The hand of justice prevented many 
of them from ever returning to regain their buried treas- s 
ures which remained, and remain probably to this day, 
objects of enterprise for the money-digger. 

This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and 
rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the 
spots where treasures lay hidden; and many have been lo 
the ransackings after the pirate's booty. In all the 
stories which once abounded of these enterprises, the devil 
played a conspicuous part. Either he was conciliated by 
ceremonies and invocations, or some solemn compact was 
made with him. Still he was ever prone to play the 15 
money-diggers some slippery trick. Some would dig so 
far as to come to an iron chest, when some baffling cir- 
cumstance was sure to take place. Either the earth would 
fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful noise or appari- 
tion would frighten the party from the place ; sometimes 20 
the devil himself would appear, and bear off the prize when 
within their very grasp; and if they revisited the place 
the next day, not a trace would be found of their labors 
of the preceding night. 

All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, 25 
and for a long time tantalized, without gratifying, my 
curiosity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get 
at as truth, and there is nothing in this world but 
truth ° that I care for. I sought among all my favorite 
sources of authentic information, the oldest inhabit- 30 
ants, and particularly the old Dutch wives of the 
province ; but though I flatter myself that I am better 
versed than most men in the curious history of my native 



158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

province, yet for a long time my inquiries were unat- 
tended with any substantial result. 

At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter 
part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of 
5 severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those 
waters which had been the favorite resort of my boyhood. 
I was in company with several worthy burghers of my 
native city, among whom were more than one illustrious 
member of the corporation, whose names, did I dare to 

lo mention them, would do honor to my humble page. Our 
sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and 
we frequently changed our fishing-ground without better- 
ing our luck. We were at length anchored close under a 
ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the island of 

15 Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. The stream whirled 
and dimpled by us, without a wave or even a ripple; 
and every thing was so calm and quiet, that it was almost 
startling when the kingfisher would pitch himself from the 
branch of some high tree, and after suspending himself 

20 for a moment in the air, to take his aim, would souse into 
the smooth water after his prey. While we were lolling 
in our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the 
day, and the dullness of our sport, one of our party, a 
worthy alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as he 

25 dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to lie upon the 
bottom of the river. On waking, he found he had caught 
something of importance from the weight. On drawing 
it to the surface, we were much surprised to find it a long 
pistol of very curious and outlandish fashion, which, from 

30 its rusted condition, and its stock being worm-eaten and 
covered with barnacles, appeared to have lain a long time 
under water. The unexpected appearance of this docu- 
ment of warfare occasioned much speculation among my 



KiDt) TUJEl PIRATE 169 

pacific companions. One supposed it to have fallen there 
during the revolutionary war ; another, from the peculiarity 
of its fashion, attributed it to the voyages in the earliest 
days of the settlement; perchance to the renowned 
Adrian Block, ° who explored the Sound, and discovered 5 
Block Island, since so noted for its cheese. But a third, 
after regarding it for some time, pronounced it to be ol 
veritable Spanish workmanship. 

^^I'll warrant, '^ said he, ^^if this pistol could talk, it 
would tell strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish lo 
Dons.° IVe no doubt but it is a relic of the buccaneers 
of old times, — who knows but it belonged to Kidd him- 
self ?'' 

^^Ah! that Kidd was a resolute fellow,'' cried an iron- 
faced Cape-Cod whaler. ° ^^ There's a fine old song about 15 
him, all to the tune of — 

" ^ My name is Captain Kidd, 
As I sailed, as I sailed ; — ' 

and then it tells about how he gained the devil's good 
graces by burying the Bible °: 20 

" * I had the Bible in my hand, 
As I sailed, as I sailed, 
And I buried it in the sand, 
As I sailed. — ' 

"Odsfish,° if I thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, 25 
I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake." 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 

In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and 
— blank — for I do not remember the precise date, — 
however, it was somewhere in the early part of the last 
century, there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes 
5 a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by name. He was 
descended from old Cobus Webber of the Brille in Holland, 
one of the original settlers, famous for introducing the 
cultivation of cabbages, and who came over to the prov- 
ince during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt,° 

lo otherwise called the Dreamer. 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself 
and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, 
who continued in the same line of husbandry, with that 
praiseworthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers 

15 are noted. The whole family genius, ° during several 
generations, was devoted to the study and development 
of this one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration of 
intellect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious renown 
to which the Webber cabbages attained. 

20 The Webber dynasty^ continued in uninterrupted suc- 
cession; and never did a line give more unquestionable 
proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the 
looks, as well as the territory of his sire; and had the 
portraits of this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they 

25 would have presented a row of heads marvellously resem- 

160 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 161 

bling in shape and magnitude the vegetables over which 
they reigned. 

The seat of government ° continued unchanged in the 
family mansion: a Dutch-built house, with a front, or 
rather gable-end of yellow brick, tapering to a point, 5 
with the customary iron weathercock at the top. Every 
thing about the building bore the air of long-settled ease 
and security. Flights of martins ° peopled the little coops 
nailed against its walls, and swallows built their nests 
under the eaves ; and every one knows that these house- 10 
loving birds bring good luck to the dwelling where they 
take up their abode. In a bright summer morning, in 
early summer, it was delectable to hear their cheerful 
notes, as they sported about in the pure sweet air, chirping 
forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity of the 15 
Webbers. 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family 
vegetate under the shade of a mighty buttonwood tree, 
which by little and little grew so great as entirely to over- 
shadow their palace. The city gradually spread its sub- 20 
urbs round their domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt 
their prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began to 
grow into the bustle and populousness of streets ; in short, 
with all the habits of rustic life they began to find them- 
selves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they 25 
maintained their hereditary character, and hereditary 
possessions, with all the tenacity of petty German princes 
in the midst of the empire. ° Wolfert was the last of the 
line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the door,° 
under the family tree, and swayed the sceptre of his 30 
fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the midst of the 
metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

taken unto himself a helpmate, ° one of that excellent 
kind called stirring women; that is to say, she was one 
of those notable little housewives who are always busy 
where there is nothing to do. Her activity, however, took 
5 one particular direction : her whole life seemed devoted 
to intense knitting; whether at home or abroad, walking 
or sitting, her needles were continually in motion, and it 
is even affirmed that by her unwearied industry she very 
nearly supplied her household with stockings throughout 
lothe year. This worthy couple were blessed with one 
daughter, who was brought up with great tenderness and 
care ; uncommon pains had been taken with her education, 
so that she could stitch in every variety of way, make all 
kinds of pickles and preserves, and mark her own name 
15 on a sampler. ° The influence of her taste was seen also 
in the family garden, where the ornamental began to mingle 
with the useful ; whole rov/s of fiery marigolds and splendid 
hollyhocks bordered the cabbage-beds, and gigantic sun- 
flowers lolled their broad jolly faces over the fences, seem- 
20 ing to ogle most affectionately the passer-by. 

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his 
paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but 
that, like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares 
and vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes 
25 caused him annoyance. His little territory gradually 
became hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter- 
cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then sub- 
jected to the interruptions of the border population that 
infest the streets of a metropolis, who would make mid- 
30 night forays into his dominions, and carry off captive 
whole platoons of his noble subjects. ° Vagrant swine 
would make a descent, too, now and then, when the gate 
was left open, and lay all waste before them; and mi^- 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 163 

chievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious sun- 
flowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads 
so fondly over the walls. Still all these were petty griev- 
ances which might now and then ruffle the surface of his 
mind, as a summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill- 5 
pond, but they could not disturb the deep-seated quiet 
of his soul. He would but seize a trusty staff, that stood 
behind the door, issue suddenly out, and anoint ° the 
back of the aggressor, whether pig or urchin, and then 
return within doors, marvellously refreshed and tran- 10 
quillized. 

The chief cause of anxiety^ to honest Wolfert, however, 
was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of 
living doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and 
treble the magnitude of his cabbages, and the number of 15 
competitors prevented the increase of price ; thus, there- 
fore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert 
grew poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, perceive 
how the evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day to day, 20 
had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; insomuch, 
that it at length implanted two or three wrinkles in his 
brow; things unknown before in the family of the Web- 
bers ; and it seemed to pinch up° the corners of his cocked 
hat into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite to the 25 
tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers of his 
illustrious progenitors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed 
the serenity of his mind, had he had only himself and his 
wife to care for; but there was his daughter gradually 30 
growing to maturity ; and all the world knows that when 
daughters begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so 
much looking after. I have no talent at describing 



164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

female charms, else fain would I depict the progress of this 
little Dutch beauty. ° How her blue eyes grew deeper 
and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder; and 
how she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded 
5 in the opening breath of sixteen summers, until, in her 
seventeenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her 
bodice, like a half-blown rosebud. 

Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then, 
tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary 

lo finery of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother 
had confided to her the key. The wedding-dress of her 
grandmother, modernized for use, with sundry orna- 
ments, handed down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale 
brown hair smothered with buttermilk in flat waving lines 

15 on each side of her fair forehead. The chain of yellow 
virgin gold, that encircled her neck ; the little cross, that 
just rested at the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, 
as if it would sanctify the place. The — but, pooh ! — 
it is not for an old man like me to be prosing about female 

20 beauty ; suffice it to say. Amy had attained her seventeenth 
year. Long since had her sampler exhibited hearts in 
couples desperately transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' 
knots worked in deep-blue silk; and it was evident she 
began to languish for some more interesting occupation 

25 than the rearing of sunflowers or picking of cucumbers. 
At this critical period of female existence, when the 
heart within a damseFs bosom, like its emblem, the minia- 
ture which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a 
single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance 

30 under the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk 
Waldron, the only son of a poor widow, but who could 
boast of more fathers than any lad in the province, for 
his mother had had four husbands, and this only child; 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 165 

SO that though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly 
claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation. 
This son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor of 
all his sires. If he had not had a great family before him, 
he seemed likely to have a great one after him, for you 5 
had only to look at the fresh bucksome youth to see that 
he was formed to be the founder of a mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor 
of the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled 
the father ^s pipe when it was empty, gathered up the 10 
mother's knitting-needle, or ball of worsted when it fell to 
the ground; stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell 
cat, and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from the 
bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. All these 
quiet little offices may seem of trifling import ; but when 1 5 
true love is translated into Low Dutch, ° it is in this way 
that it eloquently expresses itself. They were not lost 
upon the Webber family. The winning youngster found 
marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise- 
shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure of her kind, 20 
gave indubitable signs of approbation of his visits; the 
tea-kettle seemed to sing out a cheering note of welcome 
at his approach; and if the sly glances of the daughter 
might be rightly read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, 
and sewing by her mother's side, she was not a whit 25 
behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, ° or the tea-kettle, 
in good- will. 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. 
Profoundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the 
city and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing 30 
his pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle 
Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover to the outer 
door, and he, according to custom, took his parting salute, 



166 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the smack resounded so vigorously through the long, 
silent entry, as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He 
was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had 
never entered into his head that this mere child, who, 
5 as it seemed, but the other day had been climbing about 
his knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could 
all at once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He 
rubbed his eyes, examined into the fact, and really found 
that, while he had been dreaming of other matters, she 

lo had actually grown to be a woman, and what was worse, 
had fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. 
He was a kind father, but a prudent man. The young 
man was a lively, stirring lad; but then he had neither 
money nor land. Wolfert's ideas all ran in one channel; 

15 and he saw no alternative in case of a marriage but to 
portion off the young couple with a corner of his cabbage- 
garden, the whole of which was barely sufficient for the 
support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip 

20 this passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the 
house ; though sorely did it go against his fatherly heart, 
and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of his 
daughter. She showed herself, however, a pattern of 
filial piety and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; 

25 she never flew in the face of parental authority; she never 
flew into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as many roman- 
tic novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, indeed ! 
She was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, I'll 
warrant ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like an 

30 obedient daughter, shut the street-door in her lover's 
face, and if ever she did grant him an interview, it was 
either out of the kitchen-window^ or over the garden- 
fence, 



OR GOLDEN DREAMS 167 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his 
mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he 
wended his way one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, 
about two miles from the city. It was a favorite resort 
of the Dutch part of the community, from being always 5 
held by a Dutch line of landlords, and retaining an air and 
relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch-built house, 
that had probably been a country seat of some opulent 
burgher in the early time of the settlement. It stood 
near a point of land called Corlaer's Hook, which stretches 10 
out into the Sound, and against which the tide, at its 
flux and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The 
venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished 
from afar by a grove of elms and sycamores that seemed 
to wave a hospitable invitation, while a few weeping- 1 5 
willows, with their dank, drooping foliage, resembling 
falling waters, gave an idea of coolness, that rendered it an 
attractive spot during the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old 
inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played 20 
at shuffle-board° and quoits and ninepins, others smoked 
a deliberate pipe, and talked over public affairs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert 
made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows 
was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies 25 
about the fields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for the 
premature chilliness of the day had driven the company 
within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon, the habitual 
club was in session, composed principally of regular 
Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally with per- 30 
sons of various character and country, as is natural in a 
place of such motley population. 

Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed arm- 



168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

chair, sat the dictator of this httle world, the venerable 
Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm Rapelye. He was 
a man of Walloon^ race, and illustrious for the antiquity 
of his line, his great-grandmother having been the first 
5 white child born in the province. But he was still more 
illustrious for his wealth and dignity; he had long filled 
the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the 
governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained 
possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time im- 

lo memorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat 
in his seat of government, until in the course of years he 
filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with 
his subjects; for he was so rich a man that he was never 
expected to support any opinion by argument. The land- 

15 lord waited on him with peculiar officiousness ; not that 
he paid better than his neighbors, but then the coin of a 
rich man seems always to be so much more acceptable. 
The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to in- 
sinuate in the ear of the august Ramm.° It is true, Ramm 

20 never laughed, and, indeed, ever maintained a mastiff- 
like gravity, and even surliness of aspect ; yet he now and 
then rewarded mine host with a token of approbation; 
which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of grunt, 
still delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh from 

25 a poorer man. 

"This will be a rough night for the money-diggers,'' 
said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house, 
and rattled at the windows. 

"What ! are they at their works again?'' said an Eng- 

30 lish half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very fre-> . 
quent attendant at the inn. > 

"Aye, are they," said the landlord, "and well they 
may be. They've luck of late. They say a great pot of 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 169 

money has been dug up in the fields, just behind Stuy- 
vesant's orchard. Folks think it must have been buried 
there in old times, by Peter Stuyvesant,° the Dutch gov- 
ernor/' 

^^ Fudge!'' said the one-eyed man of war, as he added 5 
a small portion of water to a bottom of brandy. ° 

^^Well, you may believe it or not, as you please," said 
mine host, somewhat nettled; ^^but everybody knows 
that the old governor buried a great deal of his money at 
the time of the Dutch troubles, when the English red- 10 
coats seized on the province. They say, too, the old 
gentleman walks°; aye, and in the very same dress that 
he wears in the picture that hangs up in the family house." 

''Fudge°!" said the half-pay officer. 

^^ Fudge, if you please ! But didn't Corney Van Zandt 15 
see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with 
his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that 
flashed like fire? And what can he be walking for, but 
because people have been troubling the place where he 
buried his money in old times?" 20 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural 
sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was 
laboring with the unusual production of an idea. As he 
was too great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican, 
mine host respectfully paused until he should deliver him- 25 
self. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now 
gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the 
point of an eruption. First, there was a certain heaving 
of the abdomen, not unlike an earthquake; then was 
emitted a cloud of tobacco-smoke from that crater, his 30 
mouth; then there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as 
if the idea were working its way up through a region of 
phlegm; then there were several disjointed menaber^ of 



170 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough; at length his 
voice forced its way into a slow but absolute tone of a 
man who feels the weight of his purse, if not of his ideas; 
every portion of his speech being marked by a testy puff 
5 of tobacco-smoke. 

'^Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant^s walking? — 
puff — Have people no respect for persons ? — puff — 
puff — Peter Stuyvesant knew better what to do with 
his money than to bury it — puff — I know the Stuy- 
lo vesant family — puff — every one of them — puff — not 
a more respectable family in the province — puff — old 
standards — puff — warm householders — puff — none 
of your upstarts — puff — puff — puff. Don^t talk to me 
of Peter Stuyvesant 's walking — puff — puff — puff — 

15 puff/' 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, 
clasped up his mouth till it wrinkled at each corner, and 
redoubled his smoking with such vehemence, that the 
cloudy volumes soon wreathed round his head, as the 

20 smoke envelops the awful summit of Mount iEtna.° 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this 
very rich man.^ The subject, however, was too interest- 
ing to be readily abandoned. The conversation soon 
broke forth again from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van 

25 Hook,° the chronicler of the club, one of those prosing, 
narrative old men who seem to be troubled with an in- 
continence of words, as they grow old. 

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an 
evening as his hearers could digest in a month. He now 

30 resumed the conversation by affirming that, to his knowl- 
edge, money had at different times been digged^ up in 
various parts of the island. The lucky persons who had 
discovered them had always dreamt of them three times 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 171 

beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, those 
treasures had never been found but by some descendant 
of the good old Dutch famihes, which clearly proved that 
they had been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time. 

"Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen!^' cried the half- s 
pay officer. '^The Dutch had nothing to do with them. 
They were all buried by Kidd° the pirate, and his crew." 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole 
company. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talis- 
man in those times, and was associated with a thousand lo 
marvellous stories. 

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations 
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of 
Morgan, ° Blackbeard, and the whole list of bloody buc- 
caneers. 15 

The officer was a man of great weight among the 
peaceable members of the club, by reason of his warhke 
character and gunpowder tales. ° All his golden stories 
of Kidd, however, and of the booty he had buried, were 
obstinately rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, 20 
rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed 
by a foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore in 
the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuy- 
vesant and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert 25 
Webber. He returned pensively ° home, full of magnifi- 
cent ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be 
turned into gold dust, and every field to teem with treas- 
ure. His head almost reeled at the thought how often 
he must have heedlessly rambled over places where count- 30 
less sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath his 
feet. His mind was in an uproar with this whirl of new 
ideas. As he came in sight of the venerable mansion of 



172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

his forefathers, and the httle realm where the Webbers 
had so long and so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose 
at the narrowness of his destiny. 
^'Unlucky Wolfert!^' exclaimed he; '^ others can go to 

5 bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth; 
they have but to seize a spade in the morning and turn up 
doubloons^ like potatoes ; but thou must dream of hard- 
ships, and rise to poverty, — must dig thy field from year's 
end to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cabbages ! '' 

lo Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart; 
and it was long before the golden visions that disturbed 
his brain permitted him to sink into repose. The same 
visions, however, extended into his sleeping thoughts, 
and assumed a more definite form. He dreamt that he 

1 5 had discovered an immense treasure in the centre of his 
garden. At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a 
golden ingot; diamond crosses sparkled out of the dust; 
bags of money turned up their bellies, corpulent with 
pieces-of -eight, ° or venerable doubloons; and chests, 

2o wedged close with moidores,° ducats, ° and pistareens, 
yawned before his ravished eyes, and vomited forth their 
glittering contents. 

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no 
heart to go about his daily concerns, which appeared so 

25 paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney- 
corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in 
the fire. The next night his dream was repeated. He 
was again in his garden, digging, and laying open stores 
of hidden wealth. There was something very singular in 

30 this repetition. He passed another day of reverie, and 
though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as usual in 
Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat 
unmoved amidst the general uproar. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN BREAMS 173 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating 
heart. He put on his red night-cap wrong side out- 
wards, for good luck. It was deep midnight before his 
anxious mind could settle itself into sleep. Again the 
golden dream was repeated, and again he saw his garden 5 
teeming with ingots and money-bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilder- 
ment. A dream, three times repeated, was never known 
to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind 10 
part before, and this was a corroboration of good luck.° 
He no longer doubted that a huge store of money lay 
buried somewhere in his cabbage-field, coyly waiting to 
be sought for; and he repined at having so long been 
scratching about the surface of the soil instead of dig- 15 
ging to the centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these 
speculations; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold 
into his tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slap- 
jacks, begged her to help herself to a doubloon. 20 

His grand care now was how to secure this immense 
treasure without its being known. Instead of his work- 
ing regularly in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole 
from his bed at night, and with spade and pickaxe went 
to work to rip up and dig about his paternal acres, from 25 
one end to the other. In a little time the whole garden, 
which had presented such a goodly and regular appear- 
ance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army 
in battle array, was reduced to a scene of devastation; 
while the relentless Wolfert, with night-cap on head, and 2>'^ 
lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the slaughtered 
ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the 



174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

preceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, 
from the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously 
rooted from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and 
left to wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert^s wife 
5 remonstrated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over 
the destruction of some favorite marigold. ^'Thou shalt 
have gold of another guess sort,'^° he would cry, chuck- 
ing her under the chin; ^Hhou shalt have a string of 
crooked ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child.'' 

loHis family began really to fear that the poor man's wits 
were diseased. He muttered in his sleep at night about 
mines of wealth, about pearls and diamonds, and bars of 
gold. In the daytime he was moody and abstracted, and 
walked about as if in a trance. Dame Webber held fre- 

15 quent councils with all the old women of the neighbor- 
hood; scarce an hour in the day but a knot of them 
might be seen wagging their white caps together round 
her door, while the poor woman made some piteous 
recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek for more 

20 frequent consolation from the stolen interviews of her 
favored swain. Dirk Waldron. The delectable little Dutch 
songs, with which she used to dulcify the house, grew less 
and less frequent, and she would forget her sewing, and 
look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pondering by 

25 the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed on 
him thus anxiously, and for a moment was roused from 
his golden reveries. ^^ Cheer up, my girl," said he, ex- 
ultingly; ''why dost thou droop? — thou shalt hold up 
thy head one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and the Scher- 

30 merhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams. By 
St. Nicholas, but the patroon himself shall be glad to 
get thee for his son ! " 

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 175 

was more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the 
good man's intellect. 

In the meantime Wolfert went on digging and dig- 
ging; but the field was extensive, and as his dream had 
indicated no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The 5 
winter set in before one-tenth of the scene of promise 
had been explored. 

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too 
cold for the labors of the spade. 

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of 10 
spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe 
in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with 
renovated zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry were 
reversed. 

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting 15 
out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, until 
the shades of night summoned him to his secret labors. 
In this way he continued to dig from night to night, 
and week to week, and month to month, but not a stiver ° 
did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged, the 20 
poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was digged 
away, and the sand and gravel from beneath were thrown 
to the surface, until the whole field presented an aspect 
of sandy barrenness. 

In the meantime the seasons gradually rolled on. The 25 
little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early 
spring croaked as bull-frogs during the summer heats, and 
then sank into silence. The peach-tree budded, blossomed, 
and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, 
twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, 30 
held their congress along the eaves, and then winged their 
flight in search of another spring. The caterpillar spun 
its winding-sheet, dangled in it from the great button- 



176 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wood tree before the house ; turned into a moth, fluttered 
with the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared; and 
finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned yellow, 
then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and 
5 whirhng about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered 
that winter was at hand. 

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as 
the year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply 
of his household during the sterility of winter. The 

lo season was long and severe, and for the first time the 
family was really straitened in its comforts. By degrees 
a revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert ^s mind, 
common to those whose golden dreams have been dis- 
turbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole 

15 upon him that he should come to want. He already con- 
sidered himself one of the most unfortunate men in the 
province, having lost such an incalculable amount of 
undiscovered treasure, and now, when thousands of 
pounds had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings 

20 and pence, was cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about 
with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downward into 
the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are 
apt to do when they have nothing else to put into them. 

25 He could not even pass the city almshouse without giving 
it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his future abode. 
The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks oc- 
casioned much speculation and remark. For a long time 
he was suspected of being crazy, and then every body 

30 pitied him; and at length it began to be suspected that 
he was poor, and then every body avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him 
outside of the door when he called, entertained him hos- 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 111 

pitably on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand 
at parting, shook their heads as he walked away, with the 
kind-hearted expression of ^^poor Wolfert,^^ and turned a 
corner nimbly if by chance they saw him approaching as 
they walked the streets. Even the barber and the cob- 5 
bier of the neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley 
hard by, three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the 
world, eyed him with that abundant sympathy^ which 
usually attends a lack of means ; and there is not a doubt 
but their pockets would have been at his command only 10 
that they happened to be empty. 

Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, as if 
poverty were contagious, like the plague; every body 
but honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen 
visits to the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more 15 
affectionate as the fortunes of his mistress were in the 
wane. 

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had frequented 
his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long lonely 
walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and 20 
disappointments, when his feet took instinctively their 
wonted direction, and on awaking out of a reverie, he 
found himself before the door of the inn. For some 
moments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart 
yearned for companionship ; and where can a ruined man 25 
find better companionship than at a tavern, where there 
is neither sober example nor sober advice to put him out of 
countenance ? 

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn 
at their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; but 30 
one was missing — the great Ramm Rapelye, who for 
many years had filled the leather-bottomed chair of state. 
His place was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however, 



178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

to be completely at home in the chair and the tavern. 
He was rather under size, but deep-chested, square, and 
muscular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow- 
knees, gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was 
5 dark and weatherbeaten ; a deep scar, as if from the 
slash of a cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made 
a gash in his upper lip, through which his teeth shone like 
a bull-dog ^s. A mop of iron-gray hair gave a grizzly finish 
to this hard-favored visage. His dress was of an am- 

iophibious° character. He wore an old hat edged with 
tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style, on one side of 
his head; a rusty blue military coat with brass buttons, 
and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather 
breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He 

15 ordered every body about him with an authoritative air, 
talking in a brattling voice, that sounded like the crack- 
ling of thorns under a pot ; d d the landlord and ser- 
vants with perfect impunity, and was waited upon with 
greater obsequiousness than had ever been shown to the 

20 mighty Ramm himself. 

Wolfert^s curiosity was awakened to know who and 
what was this stranger, who had thus usurped absolute 
sway in this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him 
aside, into a remote corner of the hall, and there, in an 

25 under voice, and with great caution, imparted to him all 
that he knew on the subject. The inn had been aroused 
several months before, on a dark, stormy night, by re- 
peated long shouts, that seemed like the howling of a 
wolf. They came from the water-side, and at length were 

30 distinguished to be hailing the house in the seafaring 
manner, ^^House-a-hoy !'' The landlord turned out with 
his head-waiter, tapster, hostler, and errand-boy, — that 
is to say, with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 179 

place whence the voice proceeded, they found this am- 
phibious-looking personage at the water's edge, quite 
alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-chest. How he 
came there, whether he had been set on shore from some 
boat, or had floated to land on his chest, nobody could tell, 5 
for he did not seem disposed to answer questions; and 
there was something in his looks and manners that put a 
stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, he took pos- 
session of a corner-room of the inn, to which his chest was 
removed with great difficulty. Here he had remained 10 
ever since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. Some- 
times, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or three days 
at a time, going and returning without giving any notice 
or account of his movements. He always appeared to 
have plenty of money, though often of very strange, out- 15 
landish coinage; and he regularly paid his bill every 
evening before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having 
slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and 
decorated the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of 20 
foreign workmanship. A greater part of his time was 
passed in this room, seated by the window, which com- 
manded a wide view of the Sound, a short old-fash- 
ioned pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum-toddy 
at his elbow, and a pocket-telescope in his hand, with 25 
which he reconnoitred every boat that moved upon the 
water. Large square-rigged vessels seemed to excite but 
little attention ; but the moment he descried any thing 
with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, or that a barge, or yawl, 
or jolly-boat hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he 30 
examined it with the most scrupulous attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, for in 
those times the province was so much the resort of adven- 



180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

turers of all characters and climes, that any oddity in dress 
or behavior attracted but small attention. In a little 
while, however, this strange sea-monster, thus strangely 
cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the long- 
5 established customs and customers of the place, and to 
interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs of the ninepin 
alley and the bar-room, until in the end he usurped an 
absolute command over the whole inn. It was all in vain 
to attempt to withstand his authority. He was not 

lo exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremptory, like 
one accustomed to tyrannize on a quarter-deck ; and there 
was a dare-devil air about every thing he said and did, that 
inspired wariness in all by-standers. Even the half -pay 
officer, so long the hero of the club, was soon silenced by 

15 him ; and the quiet burghers stared with wonder at seeing 
their inflammable man of war so readily and quietly ex- 
tinguished. 

And then the tales that he would tell were enough to 
make a peaceable man^s hair stand on end. There was 

20 not a sea-fight, nor marauding nor freebooting adventure 
that had happened within the last twenty years, but he 
seemed perfectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the 
exploits of the buccaneers in the West Indies, and on 
the Spanish Main. How his eyes would glisten as he 

25 described the way-laying of treasureships, the desperate 
fights, yard-arm and yard-arm — broadside and broad- 
side — the boarding and capturing huge Spanish gal- 
leons ! With what chuckling relish would he describe 
the descent upon some rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of 
30 a church ; the sacking of a convent ! You would have 
thought you heard some gormandizer dilating upon the 
roasting of a savory goose at Michaelmas as he described 
the roasting of some Spanish Don° to m3.ke him discover 



OR GOLDEN DREAMS 181 

his treasure — a detail given with a minuteness that made 
every rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in his 
chair. All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he 
considered it an excellent joke; and then he w^ould give 
such a tyrannical leer in the face of his next neighbor, that 5 
the poor man would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint- 
heartedness. If any one, however, pretended to con- 
tradict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an 
instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momentary 
fierceness, and seemed to resent the contradiction. ^^ How 10 
the devil should you know as well as I ? — I tell you it was 
as I say ; '' and he would at the same time let slip a broad- 
side of thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases, 
such as had never been heard before within these peaceful 
walls. 15 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he 
knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after 
day their conjectures concerning him grew more and 
more wild and fearful. The strangeness of his arrival, 
the strangeness of his manners, the mystery that sur- 20 
rounded him, all made him something incomprehensible 
in their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to 
them — he was a merman — he was a behemoth — he 
was a leviathan, ° — in short, they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin at 25 
length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of 
persons; he contradicted the richest burghers without 
hesitation; he took possession of the sacred elbow-chair, 
which, time out of mind, had been the seat of sovereignty 
of the illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, he even went so 30 
far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as to slap that 
mighty burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink 
in his face, a thing scarcely to be believed. From this 



182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

time Ramm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn; his 
example was followed by several of the most eminent 
customers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out 
of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another 
5 man^s jokes. The landlord was almost in despair; but he 
knew not how to get rid of this sea-monster and his sea- 
chest, who seemed both to have grown like fixtures, or 
excrescences, on his establishment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert^s 

lo ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the 
button in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance now 
and then towards the door of the bar-room, lest he should 
be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in 

1 5 silence ; impressed with profound awe of this unknown, 
so versed in freebooting history. It was to him a wonder- 
ful instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find 
the venerable Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, 
and a rugged tarpauling^ dictating from his elbow-chair, 

2o hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little 
realm with brawl and bravado. 

The stranger was on this evening in a more than usually 
communicative mood, and was narrating a number of 
astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the 

25 high seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish, 
heightening the frightful particulars in proportion to 
their effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swagger- 
ing detail cf the capture of a Spanish merchantman. She 
was lying becalmed during a long summer ^s day, just off 

30 from an island, which was one of the lurking-places of 
the pirates. They had reconnoitred her with their spy- 
glasses from the shore, and ascertained her character and 
force. At night a picked crew of daring fellows set off 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 183 

for her in a whale-boat. They approached with muffled 
oarS; as she lay rocking idly with the undulations of the 
sea^ and her sails flapping against the masts. They were 
close under the stern before the guard on deck was aware 
of their approach. The alarm was given ; the pirates 5 
threw hand-grenades ° on deck^ and sprang up the main 
chains, sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion; some 
were shot down, others took refuge in the tops; others 
were driven overboard and drowned ; while others fought 10 
hand to hand from the main-deck to the quarter-deck, 
disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were 
three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who 
made the most desperate resistance. They defended the 
companion-way, cut down several of their assailants, and 15 
fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the 
shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons was 
old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their 
ground vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout 20 
of victory from the main-deck. ^^The ship is ours!'' 
cried the pirates. 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and 
surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, 
and just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that 25 
laid all open. The captain just made out to articulate the 
words ^^no quarter.'' 

^^And what did they do with their prisoners?" said 
Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 

^^ Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A 30 
dead pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sunk 
quietly back, like a man who had unwarily stole upon the 
lair of a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful 



184 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

glances at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the 
stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther off. The 
seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle, 
as though he either did not perceive or did not regard the 
5 unfavorable effect he had produced upon his hearers. 
The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence, 
for he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head 
against this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost con- 
sequence in the eyes of his ancient companions. He now 

lo tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger by 
others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, 
concerning whom he seemed to have picked up many of 
the floating traditions of the province. The seaman had 
always evinced a settled pique against the one-eyed war- 

isrior. On this occasion he listened with pecuhar im- 
patience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the other elbow 
on the table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he was 
pettishly puffing; his legs crossed; drumming with one 
foot on the ground, and casting every now and then the 

20 side-glance of a basilisk^ at the prosing captain. At 
length the latter spoke of Kidd^s having ascended the 
Hudson with some of his crew, to land his plunder in 
secrecy. 

"Kidd up the Hudson!'^ burst forth the seaman, with 

25 a tremendous oath, — " Kidd never was up the Hudson ! ^' 

"I tell you he was,^' said the other. "Aye, and they 

say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat 

that runs out into the river, called the -DeviFs Dans 

Kammer.'' 

30 " The DeviPs Dans Kammer in your teeth ! ^' cried the 
seaman. "I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. 
What a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts ? '' 
"What do I know?'' echoed the half -pay officer. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 185 

" Why, I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, and 
I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution 
Dock/^ 

^^Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a 
fellow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Aye ! ^^ putting 5 
his face nearer to that of the officer, "and there was many 
a land-lubber looked on that might much better have 
swung in his stead/' 

The half-pay officer was silenced, but the indignation 
thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence 10 
in his single eye, which kindled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed 
that the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd 
never did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any 
of those parts, though many affirmed such to be the 15 
fact. It was Braddish and others of the buccaneers who 
had buried money; some said in Turtle Bay, others on 
Long Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 
" Indeed, '' added he, "I recollect an adventure of Sam, 
the negro fisherman, many years ago, which some think 20 
had something to do with the buccaneers. As we are all 
friends here, and as it will go no further, V\\ tell it to 
you. 

"Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was 
returning from fishing in Hell-gate ^' 25 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden 
movement from the unknown, who, laying his iron fist 
on the table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that 
indented the very boards, and looking grimly over his 
shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear, — "Heark'ee, 30 
neighbor, '^ said he, with significant nodding of the head, 
" you^d better let the buccaneers and their money alone, — 
they're not for old men and old women to meddle with. 



186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

They fought hard for their money; they gave body and 
soul for it; and wherever it hes buried, depend upon it 
he must have a tug with the devil who gets it ! " 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence 
5 throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within him- 
self, and even the one-eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, 
who from a dark corner of the room had listened with 
intense eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, 
looked with mingled awe and reverence at this' bold buc- 

lo caneer, for such he really suspected him to be. There was 
a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his 
stories about the Spanish Main° that gave a value to 
every period; and Wolfert would have given any thing 
for the rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his 

15 imagination crammed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, ° 
and jolly round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company 
was at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out 
a prodigious watch of curious and ancient workmanship, 

20 and which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. 
On touching a spring it struck ten o'clock, upon which 
the sailor called for his reckoning, and having paid it out 
of a handful of outlandish coin, he drank off the remainder 
of his beverage, and without taking leave of any one, 

25 rolled out of the room, muttering to himself, as he stamped 
up stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could recover 
from the silence into which they had been thrown. The 
very footsteps of the stranger, which were heard now and 

30 then as he traversed his chamber, inspired awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged 
was too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder- 
gust had gathered up unnoticed while they were lost in 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 187 

talk, and the torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts 
of setting off for home until the storm should subside. 
They drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the 
worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which had been 
so discourteously interrupted. He readily complied, whis- 5 
pering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath, 
and drowned occasionally by the roUing of the thunder; 
and he would pause every now and then, and listen with 
evident awe, as he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger 
pacing overhead. 10 

The following is the purport of his story. 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 

Every body knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman, 
or, as he is commonly called. Mud Sam, who had fished 
about the Sound for the last half century. It is now 
many years since Sam, who was then as active a young 15 
negro as any in the province, and worked on the farm of 
Killian Suydam on Long Island, having finished his day^s 
work at an early hour, was fishing, one still summer even- 
ing, just about the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 

He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with 20 
the currents and eddies, had shifted his station according 
to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to 
the Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from 
the Pot to the Frying-Pan°; but in the eagerness of his 
sport he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing, 25 
until the roaring of the whirlpools and eddies warned him 
of his danger ; and he had some difficulty in shooting his 
skiff from among the rocks and breakers, and getting to 
the point of BlackwelFs Island. ° Here he cast anchor for 



188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to 
return homewards. As the night set in, it grew blustering 
and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in the west, 
and now and then a growl of thunder or a flash of light- 
5 ning told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled 
over, therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and 
coasting along, came to a snag nook,° just under a steep 
beetling rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root of a 
tree that shot out from a cleft, and spread its broad 

lo branches like a canopy over the water. The gust came 
scouring along; the wind threw up the river in white 
surges; the rain rattled among the leaves; the thunder 
bellowed worse than that which is now bellowing; the 
lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the stream; but 

15 Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay crouching 
in his skiff, rocking upon the billows until he fell asleep. 
When he woke all was quiet. The gust had passed away, 
and only nov/ and then a faint gleam of lightning in the 
east showed which way it had gone. The night was dark 

20 and moonless, and from the state of the tide Sam con- 
cluded it was near midnight. He was on the point of 
making loose his skiff to return homewards, when he saw 
a light gleaming along the water from a distance, which 
seemed rapidly approaching. As it drew near he per- 

25 ceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a boat gliding 
along under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small 
cove, close to where he was. A man jumped on the shore, 
and searching about with the lantern, exclaimed: ^^This 
is the place — here^s the iron ring.^^ The boat was then 

30 made fast, and the man returning on board, assisted his 
comrades in conveying something heavy on shore. As 
the light gleamed among them, Sam saw that they were 
five stout, desperate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 189 

with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of 
them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. 
They talked low to one another, and occasionally in some 
outlandish tongue which he could not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushes, 5 
taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their burden 
up the rocky bank. Sam^s curiosity was now fully aroused ; 
so leaving his skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that 
overlooked their path. They had stopped to rest for a 
moment, and the leader was looking about among the 10 
bushes with his lantern. '^ Have you brought the spades ? ^' 
said one. '^ They are here,'' replied another, who had them 
on his shoulder. ^^We must dig deep, where there will 
be no risk of discovery,'' said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he 15 
saw before him a gang of murderers, about to bury their 
victim. His knees smote together. In his agitation he 
shook the branch of a tree with which he was supporting 
himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 

^^ What's that?" cried one of the gang. "Some one 20 
stirs among the bushes ! " 

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. 
One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards 
the very place where Sam was standing. He stood 
motionless — breathless; expecting the next moment to 25 
be his last. Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his 
favor, and made no glare among the leaves. 

"'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. "What 
a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the 
country ! " 30 

The pistol was uncocked; the burden was resumed, 
and the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched 
them as they went; the light sending back fitful gleams 



190 TALES OF A TRAVELLeU 

through the dripping bushes, and it was not till they were 
fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath freely. 
He now thought of getting back to his boat, and making 
his escape out of the reach of such dangerous neighbors; 
5 but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesitated and lingered 
and listened. By and by he heard the strokes of spades. 
^'They are digging the grave!" said he to himself; and 
the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke 
of a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went 

lo to his heart ; it was evident there was as little noise made 
as possible; every thing had an air of terrible mystery 
and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible, — 
a tale of murder was a treat for him; and he was a con- 
stant attendant at executions. He could not resist an 

15 impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer to the 
scenes of mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows 
at their work. He crawled along cautiously, therefore, 
inch by inch; stepping with the utmost care among the 
dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray him. He 

20 came at length to where a steep rock intervened between 
him and the gang; for he saw the light of their lantern 
shining up against the branches of the trees on the other 
side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the sur- 
face of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, 

25 beheld the villains immediately below him, and so near, 
that though he dreaded discovery, he dared not withdraw 
lest the least movement should be heard. In this way 
he remained, with his round black face peering above 
the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging above the 

30 edge of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the 
dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the grave 
was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf. 



WOLFEBT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 191 

This done, they scattered dry leaves over the place. 
^^And now/' said the leader, ^^I defy the devil himself to 
find it out/' 

'^The murderers!'' exclaimed Sam, involuntarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the 5 
round black head of Sam just above them. His white 
eyes strained half out of their orbits; his white teeth 
chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold per- 
spiration. 

^^ We're discovered!" cried one. 10 

" Down with him ! " cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause 
for the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, 
through brush and brier ; rolled down banks like a hedge- 
hog; scrambled up others like a catamount. In every 15 
direction he heard some one or other of the gang hemming 
him in. At length he reached the rocky ridge along the 
river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. A steep 
rock like a wall rose directly in his way ; it seemed to cut 
off all retreat, when fortunately he espied the strong cord- 20 
like branch of a grapevine reaching half-way down it. He 
sprang at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it 
with both hands, and being young and agile, succeeded 
in swinging himself to the summit of the cliff. Here he 
stood in full relief against the sky, when red-cap cocked 25 
his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by Sam's head. 
With the lucky thought of a man in an emergency, he 
uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached at the 
same time a fragment of the rock, which tumbled with a 
loud splash into the river. 30 

^^I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or 
two of his comrades as they arrived panting. ^^ He'll 
tell no tales, except to the fishes in the river." 



192 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. 
Sam, sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let 
himself quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and 
abandoned himself to the rapid current, which in that place 
5 runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept him off from the 
neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had drifted 
a great distance that he ventured to ply his oars, when he 
made his skiff dart like an arrow through the strait of 
Hell-gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Frying-Pan, 
lo nor Hog^s Back itself : nor did he feel himself thoroughly 
secure until safely nestled in bed in the cockloft of the 
ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, 
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard ° that stood at his 
15 elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths and out- 
stretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an 
additional mouthful. 

^^And is that all?" exclaimed the half -pay officer. 
"That's all that belongs to the story,'' said Peechy 
20 Prauw. 

"And did Sam never find out what was buried by the 
red-caps ? " said Wolfert, eagerly, whose mind was haunted 
by nothing but ingots and doubloons. 

"Not that I know of,'' said Peechy; "he had no time 
25 to spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not 
like to run the risk of another race among the rocks. 
Besides, how should he recollect the spot where the 
grave had been digged? every thing would look so differ- 
ent by daylight. And then, where was the use of looking 
30 for a dead body, when there was no chance of hanging 
the murderers?" 

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried ? " 
said Wolfert. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 193 

''To be sure/' cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. ''Does 
it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day?'' 

" Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, opening their 
eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. 

"Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy; "have none of you 5 
heard of Father Red-cap, who haunts the old burnt farm- 
house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near 
Hell-gate?" 

"Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the 
kind, but then I took it for some old wives' fable." 10 

"Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, "that 
farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's been un- 
occupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of 
the coast; but those who fish in the neighborhood have 
often heard strange noises there; and lights have been 15 
seen about the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red 
cap has been seen at the windows more than once, which 
people take to be the ghost of the body buried there. 
Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the building 
for the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, 20 
when they found old Father Red-cap astride of a cider- 
barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet 
in the other. He offered them a drink out of his goblet, 
but just as one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth 
— whew! — a flash of fire blazed through the cellar, 25 
Winded every mother's son of them for several minutes, 
and when they recovered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and 
Red-cap had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider- 
barrel remained." 

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy° 30 
and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half-extin- 
guished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rush- 
light.° 



194 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'^That's all fudge!'' said he, as Peechy finished his last 
story. 

^^Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself/' said 

Peechy Prauw, "though all the world knows that there's 

5 something strange about that house and grounds ; but as 

to the story of Mud Sam, I beheve it just as well as if it 

had happened to myself." 

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the 
company had made them unconscious of the uproar 

lo abroad among the elements, when suddenly they were 
electrified by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering 
crash followed instantaneously, shaking the building to its 
very foundation. All started from their seats, imagining 
it the shock of an earthquake, or that old Father Red-cap 

1 5 was coming among them in all his terrors. They hstened 
for a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against 
the windows, and the wind howling among the trees. 
The explosion was soon explained by the apparition of an 
old negro's bald head thrust in at the door, his white 

2o goggle eyes contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet 
with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half 
intelligible, he announced that the kitchen-chimney had 
been struck with lightning. 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk 

25 in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval 
the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost 
like a yell, resounded from the shores. Every one crowded 
to the window; another musket-shot was heard, and 
another long shout, mingled wildly with a rising blast of 

30 wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of 
the waters ; for though incessant flashes of lightning spread 
a light about the shore, no one was to be seen, 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN BREAMS 195 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, 
and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. 
Several bailings passed from one party to the other, but 
in a language w^hich none of the company in the bar-room 
could understand ; and presently they heard the window 5 
closed, and a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture 
were pulled and hauled about the room. The negro 
servant was summoned, and shortly afterwards was seen 
assisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down- 
stairs. 10 

The landlord was in amazement. "What, you are not 
going on the water in such a storm ? ^' 

'^ Storm !^^ said the other, scornfully, "do you call 
such a sputter of weather a storm ?'^ 

"You'll get drenched to the skin, — you'll catch your 15 
death!'' said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran, 
" don't preach about weather to a man that has cruised in 
whirlwinds and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The 20 
voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of 
impatience ; the bystanders stared with redoubled awe at 
this man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of 
the deep, and to be summoned back to it again. As, with 
the assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous 25 
sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with a super- 
stitious feeling, — half doubting whether he were not 
really about to embark upon it and launch forth upon the 
wild waves. They followed him at a distance with a 
lantern. 30 

" Dowse ° the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the 
water. "No one wants light here !" 

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran, 



196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

turning short upon them; ^^back to the house with 
you!" 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay. 
Still their curiosity would not allow them entirely to with- 
5 draw. A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the 
waves, and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under 
a rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges, 
and swashing the waters at every heave. It was with 
difficulty held to the rocks by a boat-hook, for the current 

lo rushed furiously round the point. The veteran hoisted 
one end of the lumbering sea-chest on the gunwale of the 
boat, and seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, 
when the motion propelled the boat from the shore; the 
chest slipped off from the gunwale, and, sinking into the 

15 waves, pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud 
shriek was uttered by all on shore, and a volley of exe- 
crations by those on board, but boat and man were 
hurried away by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A 
pitchy darkness succeeded ; Wolfert Webber indeed 

20 fancied that he distinguished a cry for help, and that he 
beheld the drowning man beckoning for assistance; but 
when the lightning again gleamed along the water, all 
was void ; neither man nor boat was to be seen ; nothing 
but the dashing and weltering of the waves as they hur- 

25 ried past. 

The company returned to the tavern to await the sub- 
siding of the storm. They resumed their seats, and gazed 
on each other with dismay. The whole transaction had 
not occupied five minutes, and not a dozen words had been 

30 spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair, they could 
scarcely realize the fact that the strange being who had so 
lately tenanted it, full of life and Herculean vigor, should 
already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 197 

just drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe which 
he had smoked, as it were with his last breath. As the 
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a 
terrible conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and each 
felt as if the ground on which he stood was rendered less 5 
stable by his awful example. 

As, however, the most of the company were possessed 
of that valuable philosophy ° which enables a man to bear 
up with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, 
they soon managed to console themselves for the tragic 10 
end of the veteran. The landlord was particularly happy 
that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning before he 
went ; and made a kind of farewell speech on the occasion. 

^^He came,'^ said he, ^^in a storm, and he went in a 
storm ; he came in the night, and he went in the night ; 1 5 
he came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody 
knows where. For aught I know he has gone to sea 
once more on his chest, and may land to bother some people 
on the other side of the world! Though it's a thousand 
pities,'' added he, '^if he has gone to Davy Jones' locker,° 20 
that he had not left his own locker behind him." 

^^ His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy 
Prauw. ^^I'd not have had that sea-chest in the house 
for any money; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it 
at nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And, 25 
as to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what happened 
to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from Amster- 
dam. 

^^The boatswain died during a storm: so they wrapped 
him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and 30 
threw him overboard; but they neglected in their hurry- 
skurry to say prayers over him — and the storm raged 
and roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man 



198 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming hard 
after the ship; and the sea breaking before him in great 
sprays hke fire; and there they kept scudding day after 
day, and night after night, expecting every moment to go 

5 to wreck ; and every night they saw the dead boatswain 
in his sea-chest trying to get up with them, and they heard 
his whistle above the blasts of wind and he seemed to send 
great seas mountain-high after them, that would have 
swamped the ship if they had not put up the dead-lights.^ 

lo And so it went on till they lost sight of him in the fogs off 
Newfoundland, and supposed he had veered ship and 
stood for Dead Man^s Isle. So much for burying a man 
at sea without saying prayers over him.'^ 

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the com- 

i5pany was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall 
told midnight; every one pressed to depart, for seldom 
was such a late hour of the night trespassed on by these 
quiet burghers. As they sallied forth, they found the 
heavens once more serene. The storm which had lately 

20 obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled up in fleecy 
masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright crescent of 
the moon, which looked like a little silver lamp hung up in 
a- palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal 

25 narrations they had made, had left a superstitious feeling 
in every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot where 
the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting to see 
him sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. The 
trembling rays » glittered along the waters, but all was 

30 placid ; and the current dimpled over the spot where he 
had gone down. The party huddled together in a little 
crowd as they repaired homewards; particularly when 
they passed a lonely field where a man had been murdered; 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 199 

and even the sexton, who had to complete his journey 
alone, though accustomed, one would think, to ghosts 
and goblins, went a long way round, rather than pass by 
his own churchyard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of 5 
stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of 
pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and 
there and everywhere, about the rocks and bays of these 
wild shores, made him almost dizzy. ^^ Blessed St. 
Nicholas!'' ejaculated he, half aloud, ''is it not possible 10 
to come upon one of these golden hoards, and to make 
one's self rich in a twinkling? How hard that I must go 
on, delving and delving, day in and day out, merely to 
make a morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade 
might enable me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my i s 
life!" 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been told 
of the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his 
imagination gave a totally different complexion to the 
tale. He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew 20 
of pirates burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once 
more awakened by the possibility of at length getting on 
the traces of some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his 
infected fancy tinged every thing with gold. He felt like 
the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his eyes had been 25 
greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, that gave 
him to see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of buried 
jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins, 
seemed to court him from their concealments, and sup- 
plicate him to relieve them from their untimely graves. 30 

On making private inquiries about the grounds said 
to be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and more 
confirmed in his surmise. He learned that the place had 



200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

several times been visited by experienced money-diggers, 
who had heard Black Sam^s story, though none of them 
had met with success. On the contrary, they had always 
been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or other, in con- 
5 sequence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work at 
the proper time, and with the proper ceremonials. The 
last attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who 
dug for a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty, 
for as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth out of the hole, 

lo two were thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded so 
far, however, as to uncover an iron chest, when there was a 
terrible roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures 
about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, dealt 
by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the for- 

15 bidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared on 
his death-bed, so that there could not be any doubt of it. 
He was a man that had devoted many years of his life to 
money-digging, and it was thought would have ultimately 
succeeded had he not died recently of a brain-fever in the 

20 almshouse. ° 

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and 
impatience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get 
a scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to 
seek out the black fisherman, and get him to serve as guide 

25 to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene 
of interment. Sam was easily found; for he was one of 
those old habitual beings that live about a neighborhood 
until they wear themselves a place in the public mind, and 
become, in a manner, public characters. There was not 

30 an unlucky urchin about town that did not know Sam 
the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his 
tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious 
life for more than half a century, about the shores of the 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 201 

bay and the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He passed a 
greater part of his time on and in the water, particularly 
about Hell-gate, and might have been taken, in bad 
weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that 
strait. There would he be seen, at all times, and in all 5 
weathers; sometimes in his skiff, anchored among the 
eddies, or prowling like a shark about some wreck, where 
the fish are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes 
seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking, in the mist 
and drizzle, like a solitary heron watching for its prey. 10 
He was well acquainted with every hole and corner of the 
Sound, from the Wallabout° to Hell-gate, and from Hell- 
gate unto the Devil's Stepping-Stones ; and it was even 
affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their 
Christian names. 15 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much 
larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely con- 
structed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built 
on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about 
what at present forms the point of the Battery. A ^^most 20 
ancient and fish-like smeir' pervaded the place. Oars, 
paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the wall of 
the fort; a net w^as spread on the sand to dry; a skiff 
was drawn up on the beach ; and at the door of his cabin 
was Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury 25 
of sleeping in the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's 
youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had 
grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly 
recollected the circumstances, however, for he had often 30 
been called upon to relate them, though in his version of 
the story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw, 
as is not unfrequently the case with authentic historians. 



202 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

As to the subsequent researches of money-diggers, Sam 
knew nothing about them; they were matters quite out 
of his hne; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to dis- 
turb his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to 
5 secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was 
readily effected. The long time that had intervened since 
his nocturnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the 
place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused him at 
once from his sleep and his sunshine. 

lo The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water, 
and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land of promise 
to wait for its turning: they set off, therefore, by land. 
A walk of four or five miles brought them to the edge of 
a wood, which at that time covered the greater part of the 

15 eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant 
region of Bloomen-dael.° Here they struck into a long 
lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very much 
overgrown with weeds and mullein-stalks, as if but seldom 
used, and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but 

20 a kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and 
flaunted in their faces; brambles and briers caught their 
clothes as they passed; the garter-snake glided across 
their path; the spotted toad hopped and waddled before 
them, and the restless cat-bird mewed at them from every 

25 thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in ro- 
mantic legend, he might have fancied himself entering 
upon forbidden, enchanted ground; or that these were 
some of the guardians set to keep watch upon buried 
treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place, and the 

30 wild stories connected with it, had their effect upon his 
mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found them- 
selves near the shore of the Sound in a kind of amphi- 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEIT DREAMS 203 

theatre, surrounded by forest-trees. The area had once 
been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers and 
rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, was 
a ruined building, little better than a heap of rubbish, 
with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out of 5 
the centre. The current of the Sound rushed along just 
below it ; with wildly grown trees drooping their branches 
into its waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted 
house of Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story 10 
of Peechy Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the 
light falling dubiously among, the woody places, gave a 
melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster 
any lurking feeling of awe or superstition. The night- 
hawk, wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, 15 
emitted his peevish boding cry. The woodpecker gave a 
lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the fire- 
bird ^ ° streamed by them with his deep-red plumage. 

They now came to an enclosure that had once been a 
garden. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but 20 
was little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here and 
there a matted rosebush, or a peach- or plum-tree grown 
wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower end 
of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of a 
bank, facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. 25 
The door, though decayed, was still strong, and appeared 
to have been recently patched up. Wolfert pushed it 
open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and 
striking against something like a box, a rattling sound 
ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back 30 
shuddering, but was reassured on being informed by 
the negro that this was a family vault belonging to one 
^ Orchard oriole. 



204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of the old Dutch famihes that owned this estate: an 
assertion corroborated by the sight of coffins of various 
sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with all these 
scenes when a boy, and now knew that he could not be far 
5 from the place of which they were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water ^s edge, scram- 
bling along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and 
obliged often to hold by shrubs and grapevines to avoid 
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length 

lothey came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
It was protected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a 
thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered 
and almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually 
within the cove, but the current swept deep, and black, 

IS and rapid, along its jutting points. The negro paused, 
raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled 
poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook, then suddenly 
clapping his hands, he stepped exultantly forward, and 
pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, 

20 just where a broad shelf of stone furnished a commodious 
landing-place. It was the very spot where the red-caps 
had landed. Years had changed the more perishable 
features of the scene, but rock and iron yield slowly to the 
influence of time. On looking more closely, Wolfert re- 

25 marked three crosses cut in the rock just above the ring, 
which had no doubt some mysterious signification. Old 
Sam now readily recognized the overhanging rock under 
which his skiff had been sheltered during the thunder- 
gust. To follow up the course which the midnight gang 

30 had taken, however, was a harder task. His mind had 
been so much taken up on that eventful occasion by the 
persons of the drama, as to pay but little attention to the 
scenes; and these places look so different by night and 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 205 

day. After wandering about for some time, however, 
they came to an opening among the trees which Sam 
thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of rock 
of moderate height like a wall on one side, which he thought 
might be the very ridge whence he had overlooked the 5 
diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, and at length 
discovered three crosses similar to those on the above 
ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but nearly ob- 
literated by moss that had grown over them. His heart 
leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were the private ic 
marks of the buccaneers. All now that remained was to 
ascertain the precise spot where the treasure lay buried; 
for otherwise he might dig at random in the neighborhood 
of the crosses without coming upon the spoils, and he had 
already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how- 15 
ever, the old negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed per- 
plexed him by a variety of opinions ; for his recollections 
were all confused. Sometimes he declared it must have 
been at the foot of a mulberry-tree hard by; then beside 
a great white stone; then under a small green knoll, a 20 
short distance from the ledge of rocks; until at length 
Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves 
over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle together. 
It was evidently too late to attempt any thing farther at 25 
present, and, indeed, Wolfert had come unprovided with 
implements to prosecute his researches. Satisfied, there- 
fore, with having ascertained the place, he took note of all 
its landmarks, that he might recognize it again, and set 
out on his return homeward, resolved to prosecute this 30 
golden enterprise without delay. 

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every 
feeling being now in some measure appeased, fancy began 



206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

to wander and to conjure up a thousand shapes and chi- 
meras as he returned through this haunted region. Pirates 
hanging in chains seemed to swing from every tree, and 
he almost expected to see some Spanish Don, with his 
5 throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of the ground, 
and shaking the ghost of a money-bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and 
Wolfert's nerves had arrived at' so sensitive a state that 
the flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of 

loa nut, was enough to startle him. As they entered the 
confines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a 
distance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bending 
under the weight of a burden. They paused and regarded 
him attentively. He wore what appeared to be a woollen 

15 cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sanguinary red. 

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and 

stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just 

before entering it he looked around. What was the 

affright of Wolfert when he recognized the grizzly visage 

20 of the drowned buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of 
horror. The figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook 
it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see 
any more, but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him, 
nor was Sam slow in following after his heels, having all 

25 his ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they scramble 
through bush and brake, horribly frightened at every 
bramble that tugged at their skirts; nor did they pause 
to breathe until they had blundered their way through 
this perilous wood, and fairly reached the high road to the 

30 city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon 
courage enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had 
he been dismayed by the apparition, whether living or 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 207 

dead, of the grizzly buccaneer. In the meantime, what a 
conflict of mind did he suffer ! He neglected all his con- 
cerns, was moody and restless all day, lost his appetite, 
wandered in his thoughts and words, and committed a 
thousand blunders. His rest was broken ; and when he s 
Tell asleep the nightmare, in shape of a huge money-bag, 
sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about incal- 
culable sums ; fancied himself engaged in money-digging ; 
threw the bed-clothes right and left, in the idea that he 
was shovelling away the dirt ; groped under the bed in lo 
quest of the treasure, and lugged forth, as he supposed, an 
inestimable pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at 
what they conceived a returning touch of insanity. 
There are two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch 1 5 
housewives consult in all cases of great doubt and per- 
plexity — the dominie^ and the doctor. In the present 
instance they repaired to the doctor. There was at that 
time a little dark mouldy man of medicine, famous among 
the old housewives of the Manhattoes for his skill not only 20 
in the healing art, but in all matters of strange and 
mysterious nature. His name was Dr. Knipperhausen, 
but he was more commonly known by the appellation of 
the High-German° Doctor.^ To him did the poor women 
repair for counsel and assistance touching the mental 25 
vagaries of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in 
his dark camlet robe of knowledge, ° with his black velvet 
cap, after the manner of Boorhaave,° Van Helmont,° 
and other medical sages ; a pair of green spectacles set in 30 
black horn upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a 

1 The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history 
of Dolph Heyliger, 



208 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

German folio that reflected back the darkness of his 
physiognomy. ° The doctor listened to their statement 
of the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound at- 
tention ; but when they came to mention his raving about 

5 buried money, the little man pricked up his ears. Alas, 

poor women ! they little knew the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in 

seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so 

many a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some 

lo years of his youth among the Harz mountains of Ger- 
many, and had derived much valuable instruction from the 
miners, touching the mode of seeking treasure buried in 
the earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under a 
travelling sage who united the mysteries of medicine with 

15 magic and legerdemain. His mind therefore had become 
stored with all kinds of mystic lore ; he had , dabbled a 
little in astrology, ° alchemy, divination; knew how to 
detect stolen money, and to tell where springs of water 
lay hidden; in a word, by the dark nature of his knowl- 

20 edge he had acquired the name of the High-German Doctor, 
which is pretty nearly equivalent to that of necromancer. 
The doctor had often heard rumors of treasure being 
buried in various parts of the island, and had long been 
anxious to get on the traces of it. No sooner were Wol- 

2*5 fert^s waking and sleeping vagaries confided to him than 
he beheld in them the confirmed symptoms of a case of 
money-digging, and lost no time in probing it to the bottom. 
Wolfert had long been sorely oppressed in mind by the 
golden secret, and as a family physician is a kind of father 

30 confessor, he was glad of any opportunity of unburden- 
ing himself. So far from curing, the doctor caught the 
malady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded 
to him awakened all his cupidity; he had not a doubt of 



WOLFEBT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 209 

money being buried somewhere in the neighborhood of 
the mysterious crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the 
search. He informed him that much secrecy and caution 
must be observed in enterprises of the kind; that money 
is only to be digged for at night, with certain forms and 5 
ceremonies, and burning of drugs, the repeating of mystic 
words, and above all, that the seekers must first be pro- 
vided with a divining rod, which had the wonderful prop- 
erty of pointing to the very spot on the surface of the 
earth under which treasures lay hidden. As the doctor lo 
had given much of his mind to these matters, he charged 
himself with all the necessary preparations, and, as the 
quarter of the moon was propitious, he undertook to have 
the divining rod ready by a certain night. ^ 

^ The following note was found appended to this passage in 15 
the handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker :° ^' There has been much 
written against the divining rod by those light minds who are 
ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature, but I fully join with 
Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon 
its efficacy in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the 20 
boundary stones of fields, the traces of robbers and murderers, 
or even the existence of subterraneous springs and streams of 
water; albeit, I think these properties not to be readily discred- 
ited; but of its potency in discovering veins of precious metal, 
and hidden sums of money and jewels, I have not the least doubt. 25 
Sonie said that the rod turned only in the hands of persons who 
had been born in particular months of the year, hence astrologers 
had recourse to planetary influence when they would procure a 
talisman. Others declared that the properties of the rod were 
either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the work 30 
of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Gaspard Sebett in 
his Treatise on Magic: ^Propter hsec et similia argumenta audac- 
ter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulae bifurcatse nequa- 
quam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude virgulam tractantis 
vel ope diaboli,' etc. 35 

''Georgius Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere 
delusion of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary into 
his clutches, and in his treatise 'de re Metallica,' lays particular 
stress on the mysterious words pronounced by those persons who 
employed the divining rod during his time. But I make not a 40 



210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Wolfert^s heart leaped with joy at having met with so 
learned and able a coadjutor. Every thing went on se- 
cretly, but swimmingly. The doctor had many consulta- 
tions with his patient, and the good woman of thehouse- 
5 hold lauded the comforting effect of his visits. In the 
meantime the wonderful divining rod, that great key 
to nature ^s secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had 
thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occasion ; 
and the black fisherman was engaged to take them in his 

lo skiff to the scene of enterprise; to work with spade and 

pickaxe in unearthing the treasure; and to freight his 

bark with the weighty spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous 

undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled 

15 his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if 
he should not return during the night. Like reasonable 
women, on being told not to feel alarm, they fell immedi- 
ately into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that 
something unusual was in agitation; all their fears about 

20 the unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold 
force ; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose 
himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once 
Wolfert was mounted on his hobby, it was no easy m^er 
to get him out of the saddle. It was a clear starlight 

25 doubt that the divining rod is one of those secrets of natural 
magic, the mystery of which is to be explained by the sympathies 
existing between physical things operated upon by the planets, 
and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the individual. 
Let the divining rod be properly gathered at the proper time of 

30 the moon, cut into the proper form, used with the necessary 
ceremonies, and with a perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can con- 
fidently recommend it to ixiy fellow-citizens as an infallible means 
of discovering the places on the Island of the Manhattoes where 
treasure hath been buried in the olden time. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 211 

night when he issued out of the portaP of the Webber 
palace. He wore a large flapped hat tied under the chin 
with a handkerchief of his daughter's to secure him from 
the night damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red 
cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his neck. 5 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and ac- 
coutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and 
sallied forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat; his 
black velvet cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped 
book under his arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in 10 
one hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of divination. 

The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert and the 
doctor passed by the churchyard, and the watchman 
bawled in hoarse voice a long and doleful "All's well!" 
A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little 1 5 
burgh; nothing disturbed this awful silence, excepting 
now and then the bark of some profligate night-walking 
dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is true, 
W^olfert fancied more than once that he heard the sound 
of a stealthy footfall at a distance behind them ; but it 20 
might have been merely the echo of their own steps along 
the quiet streets. He thought also at one time that he 
saw a tall figure skulking after them — stopping when 
they stopped, and moving on as they proceeded; but the 
dim and uncertain lamp-light threw such vague gleams 25 
and shadows, that this might all have been mere fancy. 

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smoking 
his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored just in 
front of his little cabin. A pickaxe and spade were lying 
in the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone 30 
bottle of good Dutch courage, in which honest Sam no 
doubt put even more faith than Dr, Knipperhausen in his 
drugs. 



212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their 
cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with 
a wisdom and valor equalled only by the three wise men of 
Gotham^ who adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was 
5 rising and running rapidly up the Sound. The current 
bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. The 
profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here and there a 
light feebly glimmered from some sick-chamber, or from 
the cabin-window of some vessel at anchor in the stream. 

lo Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firmament, the lights 
of which wavered on the surface of the placid river ; and a 
shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in the very 
direction they were taking, was interpreted by the doctor 
into a most propitious omen. 

15 In a little while they glided by the point of Corker's 
Hook with the rural inn which had been the scene of such 
night adventures. The family had retired to rest, and the 
house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him 
as they passed the point where the buccaneer had disap- 

20 peared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While 
regarding it, they thought they saw a boat actually lurking 
at the very place ; but the shore cast such a shadow over 
the border of the water that they could discern nothing 
distinctly. They had not proceeded far when they heard 

25 the low sounds of distant oars, as if cautiously pulled. 
Sam plied his oars with redoubled vigor, and knowing all 
the eddies and currents of the stream, soon left their 
followers, if such they were, far astern. In a little while 
they stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, then 

30 shrouded themselves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan 
shore, and glided swiftly along, secure from observation. 
At length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly 
embowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-known 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 213 

iron ring. They now landed, and lighting the lan- 
tern, gathered their various implements and proceeded 
slowly through the bushes. Every sound startled them, 
even that of their own footsteps among the dry leaves ; 
and the hooting of a screech owl, from the shattered 5 
chimney of- the neighboring ruin, made their blood run 
cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the 
landmarks, it was some time before they could find the 
open place among the trees, where the treasure was sup- 10 
posed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of 
rock; and on examining its surface by the aid of the 
lantern, Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses. 
Their hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial was at 
hand that was to determine their hopes. 15 

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while 
the doctor produced the divining rod.° It was a forked 
twig, one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, 
while the centre, forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly 
upwards. The doctor moved this wand about, within a 20 
certain distance of the earth, from place to place, but for 
some time without any effect, while Wolfert kept the light 
of the lantern turned full upon it, and watched it with 
the most breathless interest. At length the rod began 
slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earnest- 25 
ness, his hands trembling with the agitation of his mind. 
The wand continued to turn gradually, until at length the 
stem had reversed its position, and pointed perpendicu- 
larly downward, and remained pointing to one spot as 
fixedly as the needle to the pole. 3^ 

'^This is the spot!'' said the doctor, in an almost 
inaudible tone. 

Wolfert 's heart was in his throat. 



214 tal:es of a traveller 

'^ Shall I dig?'' said the negro, grasping the spade. 
"Pots tausend° no!^^ replied the little doctor, hastily. 
He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and 
to maintain the most inflexible silence. That certain pre- 
5 cautions must be taken and ceremonies used to prevent the 
evil spirit which kept about buried treasure from doing 
them any harm. He then drew a circle about the place, 
enough to include the whole party. He next gathered dry 
twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon which he threw 

lo certain drugs and dried herbs which he had brought in his 
basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent^ odor, 
savoring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida, 
which, however grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves 
of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a 

15 fit of coughing and wheezing that made the whole grove 
resound. Dr. Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume 
which he had brought under his arm, which was printed 
in red and black characters in German text. While 
Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by the aid of his 

20 spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration^ in Latin 
and German. He then ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe 
and proceed to work. The close-bound soil gave obsti- 
nate signs of not having been disturbed for many a year. 
After having picked his way through the surface, Sam 

25 came to a bed of sand and gravel, which he threw briskly 
to right and left with the spade. 

^'Hark!'' said Wolfert, w^ho fancied he heard a tram- 
pling among the dry leaves, and rustling through the bushes. 
Sam paused for a moment, and they listened. No foot- 

30 step was near. The bat flitted by them in silence ; a bird, 
roused from its roost by the light which glared up among 
the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the profound 
stillness of the woodland, they could distinguish the cur- 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 215 

rent rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant mur- 
muring and roaring of Hell-gate. 

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged 
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, 
reading formulae every now and then from his black- 5 
letter volume, or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the 
fire ; while Wolf ert bent anxiously over the pit, watching 
every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing the scenes 
' thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflection of 
Wolfert^s red mantle, might have mistaken the Httle 1° 
doctor for some foul magician, busied in his incantations, 
and the grizzly-headed negro for some swart goblin, obe- 
dient to his commands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon some- 
thing that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wol- ^5 
fert^s heart. He struck his spade again. 

'^Tis a chest, '^ said Sam. 

"Full of gold. 111 warrant it!'' cried Wolf ert, clasping 
his hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from 20 
above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by 
the expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk 
of the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him. 

Wolf ert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lantern. His 25 
panic communicated itself to his companions. The negro 
leaped out of the hole; the doctor dropped his book and 
basket, and began to pray in German. All was horror 
and confusion. The fire was scattered about, the lantern 
extinguished. In their hurry-skurry they ran against and 30 
confounded one another. They fancied a legion of hob- 
goblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, by the 
fitful gleams of the scattered embers^ strange figures, 



216 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

in red caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The 
doctor ran one way, the negro another, and Wolfert made 
for the water side. As he plunged strugghng onwards 
through brush and brake, he heard the tread of some one 
5 in pursuit. He scrambled frantically forward. The 
footsteps gained upon him. He felt himself grasped by 
his cloak, when suddenly his pursuer was attacked in turn : 
a fierce fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was dis- 
charged that lit up rock and bush for a second, and showed 

lo two figures grappling together — all was darker than ever. 
The contest continued — the combatants clinched each 
other, and panted, and groaned, and rolled among the 
rocks. There was snarling and growling as of a cur, 
mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fancied he could 

15 recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He would fain have 
fled, but he was on the brink of a precipice, and could go 
no further. 

Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a 
tugging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide 

20 the combat, until one was precipitated from the brow of 
the cliff, and sent headlong into the deep stream that 
whirled below. Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of 
strangling, bubbling murmur, but the darkness of the night 
hid every thing from him, and the swiftness of the current 

25 swept every thing instantly out of hearing. One of the 
combatants was disposed of, but whether friend or foe, 
Wolfert could not tell, nor whether they might not both 
be foes. He heard the survivor approach, but his terror 
revived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks rose 

30 against the horizon, a human form advancing. He could 
not be mistaken; it must be the buccaneer. Whither 
should he fly ! — a precipice was on one side — a murderer 
on the other. The enemy approached — he was close at 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR QOLDEN DREAMS 217 

hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face of 
the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that grew on the 
edge. He was jerked from off his feet, and held dangling 
in the air, half choked by the string with which his careful 
wife had fastened the garment around his neck. Wolfert 5 
thought his last moment was arrived; already had he 
committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when the string broke, 
and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from rock to 
rock, and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak fluttering 
like a bloody banner in the air. 10 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself. 
When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning 
were already shooting up the sky. He found himself 
grievously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat. 
He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. 15 
A voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. He 
turned his eyes towards the speaker ; it was Dirk Waldron. 
He had dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame 
Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity 
of their sex, had pried into the secret consultations of 20 
Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been completely dis- 
tanced in following the light skiff of the fisherman, and had 
just come in time to rescue the poor money-digger from his 
pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and 25 
Black Sam severally found their way back to the Man- 
hattoes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. 
As to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph laden 
with bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter, 
followed by a rabble-rout of curious urchins. His wife 30 
and daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and 
alarmed the neighborhood with their cries; they thought 
the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt of 



218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, 
however, still living, they had him speedily to bed, and 
a jury of old matrons of the neighborhood assembled, to 
determine how he should be doctored. The whole 
5 town was in a buzz with the story of the money-diggers. 
Many repaired to the scene of the previous night's ad- 
ventures; but though they found the very place of the 
digging, they discovered nothing that compensated them 
for their trouble. Some say they found the fragments of 

lo an oaken chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored strongly 

of hidden money; and that in the old family vault there 

were traces of bales and boxes : but this is all very dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day 

been discovered; whether any treasure were ever actually 

15 buried at that place; whether, if so, it were carried off 
at night by those who had buried it; or whether it still 
remains there under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits 
until it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of con- 
jecture. For my part, I incline to the latter opinion ; and 

20 make no doubt that great sums lie buried, both there and 
in other parts of this island and its neighborhood, ever 
since the times of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists ; 
and I would earnestly recommend the search after them 
to such of my fellow-citizens as are not engaged in any 

25 other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who 
and what was the strange man of the seas who had domi- 
neered over the little fraternity at Corlaer^s Hook for a 
time; disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fear- 

30 fully. Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that 
place to assist his comrades in landing their goods among 
the rocky coves of the island. Others, that he was one 
of the ancient comrades of Kidd, or Braddish, returned to 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 219 

convey away treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. 
The only circumstance that throws any thing like a vague 
light on this mysterious matter, is a report which prevailed 
of a strange foreign-built shallop, with much the look of 
a picaroon, ° having been seen hovering about the Sound 5 
for several days without landing or reporting herself, 
though boats were seen going to and from her at night; 
and that she was seen standing out of the mouth of the 
harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the catastrophe of 
the money-diggers. 10 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which 
I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer, who was 
supposed to have been drowned, being seen before day- 
break, with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of his 
great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which just 15 
then began to roar and bellow with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and 
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowful in his bed, 
bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His 
wife and daughter did all they could to bind up his wounds, 20 
both corporal and spiritual. The good old dame never 
stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting from morn- 
ing till night, while his daughter busied herself about 
him with the fondest care. Nor did they lack assistance 
from abroad. Whatever may be said of the desertion of 25 
friends in distress, they had no complaint of the kind to 
make. Not an old wife of the neighborhood but aban- 
doned her work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Webber 
to inquire after his health, and the particulars of his story. 
Not one came moreover without her little pipkin° of 30 
pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, delighted at an 
opportunity of signalizing her kindness and her doctor- 
ghip. What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert undergo, 



220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and all in vain! It was a moving sight to behold him 
wasting away day by day, growing thinner and thinner, 
and ghastlier and ghastlier, and staring with rueful vis- 
age from under an old patchwork counterpane, upon the 
5 jury of matrons kindly assembled to sigh and groan and 
look unhappy around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed 
a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came 
in with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reani- 
lomate the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it 
was all in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If 
any thing was wanting to complete his despair, it was a 
notice served upon him in the midst of his distress, that the 
corporation were about to run a new street through the 
15 very centre of his cabbage-garden. ° He now saw nothing 
before him but poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the 
garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what 
then was to become of his poor wife and child ? 

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful 

20 Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was 

seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after 

his daughter, and for the first time since his illness broke 

the silence he had maintained. 

^^I am going !'^ said he, shaking his head feebly, ^'and 
25 when I am gone — my poor daughter — — ^' 

^^ Leave her to me, father !^^ said Dirk, manfully, — 
''V\\ take care of her! ^' 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping 
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take 
30 care of a woman. 

'^Enough,'' said he, — '^she is yours ! — and now fetch 
me a lawyer — let me make my will and die." 

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, round- 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEK DREAMS 221 

headed little man, Roorback (or RoUebuck as it was pro- 
nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke 
into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing of 
a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a 
feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried 5 
her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber 
resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed 
itself however in a pellucid tear, which trickled silently 
down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose° ; while the 
cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played 10 
with the good dame^s ball of worsted, as it rolled about the 
floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his fore- 
head; his eyes closed; his whole visage the picture of death. 
He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end ap- 15 
proaching, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer 
nibbed ° his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to 
write. 

^^I give and bequeath,^' said Wolfert, faintly, ''my 
small farm ^' ' 20 

"What — all ? '' exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the 
lawyer. 

''Yes — alV^ said he. 

"What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and 25 
sunflower, which the corporation is just going to run a 
main street through?" 

"The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and 
sinking back upon his pillow. 

"I wish him joy that inherits it !" said the little lawyer, 30 
chuckling, and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening his 
eyes. 



222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

^^That he ^11 be one of the richest men in the place!" 
cried httle RoUebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the 

threshold of existence; his eyes again lighted up; he 

5 raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted 

night-cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. 

^^You don't say so!'' exclaimed he. 

''Faith, but I do!" rejoined the other. ''Why, when 

that great field and that huge meadow come to be 

lo laid out in streets, and cut up into snug building lots — 
why, whoever owns it need not pull off his hat to the 
patroon ! " 

"Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg 
out of bed, "why, then I think I'll not make my will yet !" 

15 To the surprise of every body the dying man actually 
recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly 
in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness, 
which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once 
more burnt up into a flame. 

20 Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body 
of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wolfert left his 
room; in a few days more his table was covered with 
deeds, plans of streets, and building lots. Little RoUe- 
buck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and 

25 adviser; and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact Wolfert 
Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the 
Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a manner, 
in spite of themselves; who have tenaciously held on to 

30 their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about 
the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends meet, 
until the corporation has cruelly driven streets through 
their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened out of 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 223 

their lethargy, and, to their astonishment, found them- 
selves rich men.° 

Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling street 
passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, 
just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His 5 
golden dream was accomplished; he did indeed find an 
unlooked-for source of wealth; for, when his paternal 
lands were distributed into building lots, and rented out to 
safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cab- 
bages, they returned him an abundant crop of rent, in- 10 
somuch that on quarter-day it was a goodly sight to see 
his tenants knocking at the door, from morning till night, 
each with a little round-bellied bag of money, a golden 
produce of the soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up, 15 
but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house 
in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, 
the grand home of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged 
it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room on 
top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot 20 
weather; and in the course of time the whole mansion 
was overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber 
and Dirk Waldron. 

As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also 
set up a great gingerbread-colored carriage, drawn by 25 
a pair of black Flanders mares, with tails that swept the 
ground; and to commemorate the origin of his greatness, 
he had for his crest a full-blown cabbage painted on the 
panels, with the pithy motto %\\t% kopf, that is to say, 
ALL HEAD ; meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer 30 
head-work. 

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of 
time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers, 



224 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed 
arm-chair,^ in the inn-parlor at Corlaer's Hook, where he 
long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch that 
he was never known to tell a story without its being be- 
5 lieved, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at. 



NOTES 

This edition has been carefully edited from the original 
editions. The tales included in this volume have been 
selected with regard to their permanent interest as well 
as literary quality. 



STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN 

1:3. Heels tripped up. Notice how the common lan- 
guage is redeemed by the aptness of the metaphor. 

1 : 8. Mentz. Other forms are '^ Mainz '^ and ''Mayence." 
Irving was ill at this place for some weeks in 1822. At that 
time it belonged to the Grand Duchy of Hesse. Austria 
and Prussia were allied , so that there were both Austrian and 
Prussian soldiers stationed there. 

1:17. Healing in the creak of his shoes. A good instance 
of the humorous effect secured by associating ideas which 
are absolutely foreign to each other but connected with the 
same thing in different ways. 

2 : 6. Lucubration. Nocturnal studying, hence that which 
is composed by night or in retirement. It is used more 
loosely to mean any literary composition, and it is in this 
sense "that Irving employs it. 

2 : 13. Quarto. This mention of the form of a book 
rather than its content — carried out in " brace of duo- 
decimos '' and ^'set of volumes'' — is typical of a good- 
humored raillery against shams and excesses which is char- 
Q 225 



226 NOTES 

acteristic. The effect is intensified by the suggestion of 
mere amusement in the words ^'pastime/' ^^brace/^ and ''set 
of chair-bottoms.'' 

2 : 26. Apologue. In an apologue, the moral truth is con- 
veyed by a story in which animals or inanimate things act. 
Irving does not say that his tales are apologues, but implies 
in his humorous fashion that his tales, like apologues, are 
designed to present some moral truth. 

2 : 33. Alteratives. Note the medical comparison, and 
find the words which continue the idea in this paragraph 
and the next. 

3 : 3. Hippocrates. A Greek physician, 460-357 b.c, 
called the "Father of Medicine.'' He was descended from 
another famous physician, ^sculapius. Irving uses his 
name to exalt, rather humorously, the physician at Mayence. 

4 : 17. Geoffrey Crayon. The pseudonym under which 
Irving had published The Sketch Book and Bracehridge 
Hall. 

4 : 19. Ci-devant. A French expression meaning "for- 
merly." 

THE GREAT UNKNOWN 

7 : Title. The Great Unknown. Scott's joking intimation 
that he was "the stout gentleman" of Bracehridge Hall led 
people to believe that Irving knew who was the author of 
Waverley, and so could disclose the great literary secret of 
the time — the authorship of Waverley. 

8:7. Blue-stocking parties. Boswell gives the origin of 
this name in his Life of Johnson. About 1780 it was the 
fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies where 
they could enter into conversation with literary men. One 
gentleman who was eminent at these parties always wore 



NOTES 227 

blue stockings. His excellent conversation was so missed 
when he was absent that it used to be said, " We can do 
nothing without the blue stockings." One of the most 
famous of these clubs met at Mrs. Montagu's, and Hannah 
More eulogized its principal members in her poem called 
Bas Bleu, Blue-stocking. 



THE HUNTING DINNER 

9:11. Accidence. Explain the figure of speech suggested. 

9 : 15. Nimrod. '^ A mighty hunter before Jehovah'' was 
the founder of the Babylonian Empire. His characterization 
as a huntsman is a pre-Israelite saying. 

10 : 3. Potent enemy, the tea-kettle. A clever suggestion 
of the English custom of having tea served in the drawing- 
room, to which the ladies have retired, while the gentlemen 
smoke and talk a little longer at the dinner table. 

10 : 5. Robustious. An old word meaning rough or vio- 
lent. 

10 : 6. Ancient antlers. A slight descriptive touch showing 
the old English fashion of decorating hall or dining-room 
with the heads of animals or, as in this case, their antlers. 

10 : 17. In at the death. Follow the metaphor, which 
serves to bring out the nature of this dinner and the diners, 
to its conclusion in this phrase. Note the full value of 
''given tongue," etc. Extended metaphors like this, with 
humorous suggestion in the things compared, are character- 
istic of Irving's style. 

10 : 26. Hereditary china. By such light touches of detail 
Irving gives faithful views of the circumstances of whatever 
life he may be presenting. 

11 : 7. Put the housekeeper to her trumps. The figure 



228 NOTES 

indicates the popularity of the game of whist in English 
households, and means that she was forced to use all of 
her valuable resources. 

11 : 14. Gala suit of faded brocade. Notice the force of 
each word in indicating the position of the housekeeper. 

11 : 24. Chintz-room. A room whose draperies are all 
made of the same chintz — a highly decorated cotton fabric 
with a glazed surface. 

11 : 29. Cedar-parlor. Notice the descriptive force of the 
compound here and in ^'rosy-faced'' butler. 

12 : 3. Snoring. Notice the good-natured and gently 
sarcastic way in which Irving characterizes the excessive 
eating in many English households at the time. 

12 : 20. Like a lobster. Notice Irving's tendency to give 
an image, especially of persons, by caricaturing one or two 
features. 

12:31. Benshee. Oftener spelled ''Banshee." Notice 
each point of the Irishman's explanation, and write your 
impression of a "Benshee." 

13 : 1. Milesian. A descendant of the ancient Gael, Mil, 
who came to Ireland with his followers some centuries before 
the Christian era. Mil and his followers, according to tra- 
dition, conquered the inhabitants of Ireland and united 
with them to form the Irish race. The native kings and 
prominent families claimed direct descent from Milesian 
ancestry. 

14 : 19. The haunted head. The suggestions of character, 
as well as images of people, given by whimsical caricature 
should receive special attention in reading this sketch, which 
furnishes abundant illustration of this one of Irving's marked 
characteristics. 



NOTES 229 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 

15 : 2. French Revolution. That great movement in 
France, whose dates are generally given as 1789-1799, by 
which the Bourbon monarchy and the feudal power of the 
nobles, known as the ancien regime, were overthrown. 

15 : 7. At present. Note Irving's comment on English 
travel brought skilfully into the narrative. 

15 : 14. Noblesse. A comprehensive name for all the 
nobility of France. 

15 : 17. Pays de Caux. A territory in Normandy, France, 
north of the Seine and bordering on the English Channel. 

15 : 18. Chateau. A castle, or large, stately residence in 
France, — usually in the country. 

15 : 23. Postilion. Note the four details of description, 
and observe which one is used later in referring to the pos- 
tilion. 

16 : 11. Pop visit. Without special invitation or ad- 
visement. 

16 : 14. Smack. Notice the choice of words, such as 
''snug/' ''relish,'^ and ''smack'' to suggest the desire of a 
traveller for rest and refreshment. 

16 : 27. Fountains. Note the definite and characteris- 
tic details given to describe this garden, as typical of one 
element of Irving's excellent descriptive power. 

17 : 5. Like the house of our host. Notice the courteous 
acknowledgment which the narrator makes of the hospi- 
tality of their host. 

17 : 15. Wars of the league. The Holy League existed 
for about twenty years in the latter part of the sixteenth 
century for advancing the interests of the Roman Catholic 
Church. Henry the Fourth was at the head of the Hugue- 



230 NOTES 

nots, or French Protestants. The real aim of the League was 
to exclude Protestant princes from succession to the throne. 

17 : 17. Henry the Fourth. King of France, 1589-1610; 
head of the Huguenot party after the death of the Prince 
of Conde in 1569; was opposed by Holy League in suc- 
cession to the throne; defeated the Leaguers in 1590 at 
battle of Ivry; became a Catholic and was crowned at 
Chartres, 1594. 

17 : 21. Cross-bow. An ancient weapon shorter than the 
long-bow, mounted on a stock, and discharged by means of 
a catch, or trigger. 

17 : 31. Ear-locks. A lock, or curl, of hair near the ear. 

18 : 7. Giant. Note carefully each detail in this description 
of the appearance and nature of the Marquis, and see how 
skilfully this paragraph is related to the preceding details 
about his warlike ancestors. 

18 : 12. Carbuncles. A beautiful gem of deep red color, 
found chiefly in the East Indies. It is a form of garnet. 
It was formerly believed to be capable of shining in 
darkness. 

18 : 15. Weaver's beam. The large heavy piece of wood 
on which the cloth is wound after it is woven. There is also 
a beam at the back of the loom to which the threads are 
attached. However, gentlemen. A skilful interruption of 
his description to keep the reader aware of the main story 
from which he is digressing. Note how he returns to the 
story at the beginning of the next paragraph. 

18 : 23. Tuileries. A former royal palace in Paris to 
which Louis XVI. and his family were taken by the mob 
from Versailles in 1789. Many important historical events 
and persons are associated with the place. The name 
means ''Tile yards,'' so called because it was built on the 
site of some yards where tiles were made. 



NOTES 231 

18 : 24. Irruption. Breaking in, as opposed to eruption, 
breaking out. Note the force of the Latin prefixes in and ex. 

18 : 24. Tenth of August. In 1792, on this date, the 
mob stormed the Tuileries, cut down the Swiss Guard, and 
removed the king and his family to ''The Temple," a medi- 
aeval stronghold of the Templars which was used then as 
a prison. 

18 : 25. Preux chevalier. Valiant knight. 

18 : 26. Qa-ga ! An ejaculation given while delivering a 
thrust with a sword. 

18:27. Sans-culottes. Literally, "without breeches." 
Only the nobles or people of importance wore the court 
costume with knee-breeches; hence it came to mean the 
common people, — especially those who were active in the 
French Revolution. 

18 : 28. Poissarde. Fishwoman. Women of that class 
took a prominent and active part in the French Revolution. 

18 : 30. Ailes de pigeon. Note the comic effect of this 
incongruous reference to the powdered ear-locks, or '' pigeon 
wings." 

19 : 2. Donjon. The " Keep," or central stronghold of 
a mediaeval castle. 

19 : 11. John Baliol. King of Scotland, 1292-1296. 
Made an alliance with Philip of France in 1295 against 
Edward I. of England. He was forced by the latter to give 
up the crown, and kept a prisoner until 1299, after which he 
was exiled. He died in exile in 1315. 

19 : 14. Bannockburn. Here the Scotch under Robert 
Bruce (King Robert I. of Scotland) defeated the English in 
1314. Bruce had previously sided with the English against 
John Baliol. 

19 : 14. Duke de Guise. Lorraine was the family name 
of the dukes of Guise in northeastern France. This prob- 



232 NOTES 

ably refers to the third duke, who became the head of the 
Catholic League in 1576. He was a famous general and 
politician. 

20 : 19. At this moment. Another reminder that this is 
a story within a story. 

21 : 9. Fagot. A bundle of stickS; twigs, or even leaves, 
used for fuel in this case. 

21 : 17. Farrago. A medley or mixture. 

21 : 31. Raised his nightcap. Note the comic effect of 
this act of instinctive courtesy when the occurrence which 
inspires it is so at variance with the circumstances. In- 
congruity is the basis of humorous effects. Note also the 
previous mention of the nightcap as a preparation. 

23 : 25. Ancien regime. Literally, ancient rule. In con- 
nection with the French Revolution the phrase means the 
monarchical system of government, with all its evils, which 
existed before that great change. 

23 : 30. Descanted. From its derivation, this word 
means to sing a variation or accompaniment ; hence to 
discourse with full particulars, as the Marquis did. 

24 : 13. Pardonnez-inoi. Pardon me. 

24 : 23. Fronde. Most of the great noblemen of France 
united in 1648 in a war called the Fronde, against Louis 
XIV. before he obtained his majority. 

24:24. Turenne. 1611-1675. A famous French gen- 
eral under Mazarin, who had at first sided with the nobles 
and Parliament against the court in the wars of the 
"Fronde." Coligni (or Coligny). 1517-1572. A prominent 
French general and statesman, leader of the Huguenot 
party, and the first victim in the Massacre of Saint Bar- 
tholomew. Mazarin. 1602-1661. A great French states- 
man who succeeded Richelieu as prime minister of France, 
and whose policy of centralizing all power in the crown gave 



NOTES 233 

rise to the wars of the Fronde when the nobles and Parlia- 
ment opposed it. 

24 : 26. Barricadoes. Insurrections at Paris in 1648. 
The same name has been applied to other insurrections 
there. 

24 : 27. Porte Cocheres. The '' Chivalry of the Porte 
Cocheres '^ was a body of young men levied by the act of 
Richelieu, who commanded that each ^^porte cochere'' of 
Paris should furnish a horse and man for the army. 

24 : 31. Due de Longueville. Husband of Genevieve de 
Bourbon-Conde, sister of ^'The Great Conde/^ and one of 
the chief leaders of the Fronde. 

24 : 32. Conde and Conti. ^'The Great Conde/' 1621- 
1686, was a celebrated French general. He was one of the 
leaders of the Fronde, and with his brother, the Duke of 
Conti, and the Due de Longueville, was imprisoned at Vin- 
cennes in 1650. Conti. 1629-1666. Took part in the wars 
of the Fronde ; was the brother of the Duchesse de Longue- 
ville, and entirely under her influence. 

24 : 33. Vincennes. A short distance east of Paris. 
Noted for its mediaeval castle. 

25 : 3. Dieppe. A French seaport on the English 
Channel. 

25 : 12. Postern. A small gate for informal or secret use; 
from the Latin, "posterus,'' a private entrance. 

25 : 14. Fosse. A ditch or moat. 

26 : 9. En croupe. On the saddle behind another rider. 
26 : 21. Chasseur. A guardsman on horseback. 

26 : 24. Flambeaux. Torches made by putting a number 
of wicks together and dipping them in some inflammable 
substance, usually wax in old times. 

27 : 2. Spit. A rod on which meat could be slowly 
turned before a fire and roasted. 



234 NOTES 

28 : 10. Canaille. A term applied to the common people 
of France in opposition to "noblesse.'' 

29 : 14. That is all. The surprise of finding the story- 
ended where one is just looking for the climax is a touch of 
Irving's humor. A little disappointing to curiosity, but 
justifiable, since it is not strictly the climax of " My Uncle's 
Adventure." 

29 : 28. Egad. An exclamation of exultation or surprise, 
which has been deduced from the ejaculation " My God." 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 

30 : 4. Acquiescent. The full force of this word, like 
many which Irving uses, can only be appreciated after one 
has considered its derivation. 

30 : 11. All was in vain. Notice the humorous effect 
of this short sentence with its sarcastic implication. 

30 : 25. Miniature. A small picture painted on ivory. 
Miniatures were much used in lockets and brooches in the 
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. 

31 : 8. Derbyshire. A midland county of England. 

32 : 24. Good. Observe the effect of the comments of 
the '^ gentleman with the ruined head," the 'inquisitive 
gentleman," etc. They unite the various stories into a group, 
and at the same time give countenance to a certain looseness 
of form not otherwise justified. 

33 : 20. Blunderbuss. A short gun with a large bore 
which could hold a number of balls. It could in this way 
do much harm without exact aim. 

34 : 8. Varlet. The word has here its secondary mean- 
ing; a low fellow, or scoundrel. 

34 : 13. Knight of the Post. One who gained his living 



NOTES 235 

by giving false evidence on trials; hence a sharper in gen- 
eral. 

35 : 2. Oaken towel. Irving's fancy plays about the 
idea of the old English punishment of ''ducking/' as a bath, 
and adds to it a whipping which his extended metaphor 
calls ''rubbing down with an oaken towel.'' 

35 : 6. Botany Bay. An inlet on the eastern coast of 
New South Wales, Australia, where England had a penal 
colony in 1787-1788. 



BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 

39 : 16. Luminaries. Light-giving bodies. Notice the 
characteristic way in which Irving extends the metaphor 
after his first mention of "lights of the universe." 

39:22. Quid pro quo. The Latin "which for what" 
indicates an equal exchange, or barter. 

40 : 9. Excommunicated. An ecclesiastical term mean- 
ing deprived of the right to take part in the rites of the 
Church is here used metaphorically to mean exclusion from 
the society of authors. 

40 : 12. Tete-a-tete. A French idiom meaning a conver- 
sation between two persons only. 

40 : 21. Friends. Note Irving's tendency to humorous 
but sarcastic comment on human foibles. 

41 : 1. Taboo'd. It was formerly a practice in the islands 
of Polynesia to set apart places, food, persons, names, days, 
etc., as permanently, or temporarily, sacred or forbidden to 
use. The word is Polynesian. 

41 : 4. Charles the Second. 1660-1685. The literature 
of the Restoration was marked by the formation and accept- 
ance of certain literary forms. It might be called the 



236 NOTES 

classic age of Dryden, and is very different from the romantic 
Elizabethan era of Spenser and Shakespeare. 

41 : 5. Queen Anne. 1702-1714. The great victories 
over the French doubtless influenced that close group of 
literary men whose epigrammatic productions give charac- 
ter to the early eighteenth-century literature. Among the 
famous names of ''Queen Anne's men'' are Swift, Addison, 
Steele, and Pope. 

41 : 9. Literary landmarks. Examine the metaphor 
fully. 

41 : 15. Elizabeth. 1558-1603. A reign noted for the 
glorious development of English literature which it made 
possible. This literature was marked by great originality, 
both of thought and forms of expression. The greatest names 
in the literature of this and the Jacobean Age (reign of 
James I.) which followed are Spenser, Shakespeare, and Ben 
Jonson. 

41 : 16. Cut and come again. Take a cut from the joint 
and come again for more. 

41 : 23. Coterie. Small number of people associated 
because of some common interest. 

41 : 26. Gregarious. Living in herds most -of the time. 
One of the words which continue his reference to authors 
as the animals which make books. 



A LITERARY DINNER 

42 : 4. Bookseller. In the eighteenth century the book- 
seller was the man who controlled, to a large extent, the 
fates of authors. He assumed the responsibility of publish- 
ing, and it was to his interest to publish only what would 
sell well. 



NOTES 237 

42 : 6. Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego. The three 
Hebrews who came forth unharmed from the fiery furnace 
of Nebuchadnezzar. 

42 : 10. Field-day. A day of unusual exertion or display, 
a gala day. 

42 : 21. Burgundy. Irving's quaint conceit here is char- 
acteristic. The gradation of the wine to suit the number 
of editions of the author's works that have been sold is one 
of those light, satirical touches of humor for which he was 
noted. 

43 : 10. Hot-pressed. Refers to the quality of paper — 
paper which has been given a gloss by being pressed in a 
calender while hot. It is of fine quality. Quarto. A book 
of the size of a fourth (Latin quartus) of the size of a sheet 
of printing paper. The paper was folded twice to make 
four leaves. 

43 : 17. Duodecimo men. Note the humorous effect of 
measuring authors by the form and size of their publications, 
and how admirably the entire classification of authors is 
carried out from the bookseller's point of view. 

44 : 10. Trencher. In mediaeval days, the food was 
served on a large piece of bread hollowed out to receive it, 
called a trencher. Later, the word was used for a large 
wooden platter; hence, figuratively, all food provided at 
table. 

44 : 21. Below the salt. Formerly the salt-cellar, often 
of massive silver, was placed in the middle of the table. 
Distinguished guests were placed between it and the head 
of the table. People of inferior rank or importance sat 
"below the salt." 

44 : 33. Garreteer. One who lives in a garret, hence a poor 
author or literary hack. 

45 : 19. Forte-piano. An inverted form of the ordinary 



238 NOTES 

pianoforte, a name derived from two Italian words meaning 
soft and loud, 

45 : 22. West End. The fashionable part of London, 
especially the streets leading out of Piccadilly and Saint 
James Street. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 

46 : 6. Covent Garden. A famous London theatre of 
the eighteenth century, built by a famous Harlequin of 
Lincoln's Inn Theatre, in 1731. It was in Bow Street, 
the fashionable resort of wits and noted people. 

47 : 6. Quip and a fillip. A quip is a smart, sarcastic turn 
of speech. Lyly, in Alexander and Campaspe, calls it "a 
short saying of a sharpe wit, with a bitter sense in a sweet 
word.'' A fillip is a light, quick tap. 

47 : 19. Hogarth. The artist whose pictures did much 
to improve the social life of the eighteenth century by pre- 
senting, in vivid satire, the crude nature of the mass of the 
English people as it was shown in their vulgar amusements 
and coarse practical jokes. 

49:6. Belle-esprit. Better spelled "Bel-esprit," is ap- 
titude for speaking and writing agreeably on various 
subjects. 

49 : 25. Tankard. A large drinking-cup, often made of 
pewter. The word comes from " tan quart, " the old French 
name for a cup of the kind. 

50 : 10. Green-arbor Court. Famous because of Gold- 
smith's residence there. 

50 : 28. Fleet Market. Near Green Arbor Court and " Old 
Bailey," the famous prison in Old London. 

51 : 2. The Muses. Daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, 



NOTES 239 

who were, according to the earliest writers, goddesses of 
memory, then inspiring goddesses of song. According to 
later writers, there were nine of them, who presided over 
the different kinds of poetry and over the sciences and 
arts. 

51 : 15. Viragoes. Used here in its secondary sense of 
bold, turbulent women. 

51 : 19. Amazon. In Greek legend, one of a race of wo- 
men who dwelt in the Caucasus Mountains. They were often 
in conflicts with the Greeks in the heroic age. These con- 
tests were a favorite theme in Grecian art and story. 

51 : 31. Hybla. An ancient city on the coast of Sicily 
celebrated for the honey produced on the neighboring hills. 

52 : 5. Beau Tibbs. A prominent character in Gold- 
smith's Citizen of the World, said by Hazlitt to be '' the best 
comic sketch since the time of Addison : unrivalled in his 
finery, his vanity, and his poverty. '' 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 

53 : 9. Village literati. The literary people of the village 
are sufficiently satirized by the comprehensive name of their 
society, '' Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical. '' 

53 : 15. Philos. Used here as an abbreviation of philos- 
ophers in a humorous sense. 

54 : 6. Stratford-on-Avon. The home of Shakespeare. 
All the other authors so cleverly characterized are of the 
eighteenth-century group of classicists. 

55 : 4. Highgate. Highgate Hill was where Bacon died, 
after he had been experimenting in the preservation of flesh 
by packing it in snow. 

55 : 14. Saint Paul's. The great cathedral of London, 



240 NOTES 

begun in 1675, according to the designs of Sir Christopher 
Wren. 

55 : 20. Paternoster Row. A part of London associated 
with many Hterary celebrities, as are the other places named. 
Also the neighborhood of publishers. 

55 : 21. Amen Corner. A place in Paternoster Row, 
London, where the clergy of Saint Paul's lived. The other 
places named were in the neighborhood where printers and 
publishers were established. Note the humorous contrast 
between '' printers' devils" and the character of the names. 

55 : 28. Halo. Used here in its figurative sense, an ideal 
glory investing anything seen through the medium of senti- 
ment. Derived from the circle of light around the heads 
of saints in old pictures. The derivation from a Greek word 
meaning 'Hhreshing-floor/' on which the oxen trod a cir- 
cular path in threshing, is interesting. 

55 : 33. Moore. Scott, Byron, and Moore were very 
popular at the time Irving wrote this. Notice the effective- 
ness of the diction in describing the absurdly confident exhil- 
aration of the village poet. 

56 : 5. Digger of Greek roots. Notice the appropriate 
metaphorical diction in both ''dig'' and /'root." 

56:10. Sanctum sanctorum. "Holy of Holies," that 
is, his private office. 

56 : 11. Minerva. The Greek goddess of wisdom. 

56 : 13. Bernard Lintot. A noted English bookseller who 
published Pope's translations of the Iliad, etc., and was a 
prominent figure in literary anecdotes of the period. 

57 : 28. His opinion. One could scarcely find a better 
example of the way in which Irving holds a thing up in the 
bright light of good-natured ridicule than the way in which 
Tom Dribble tells this story of himself. 

57 : 29. My crest fell. Metaphorical expressions like 



NOTES 241 

this are characteristic. Observe the inimitable sureness of 
touch in the selection of details for the humorously satirical 
description which precedes and follows this. 

60 : 7. Gothic. Belonging to the Goths, a name given 
by the Romans to many northern tribes who invaded the 
Roman Empire in the third and fourth centuries. Those 
to whom the name properly belongs dwelt in the region of the 
Lower Danube in the third century. The style of architec- 
ture to which their name has been given is very beautiful, 
and has been used with wonderful effect in the building of 
churches. Pointed windows and arches were features of 
this style of building. 

60 : 9. Goldy. The familiar nickname used by Gold- 
smithes friends. 

61 : 3. Cricket. The great English sport played out of 
doors with bats, balls, and wickets. 

61 : 11. Their own chimneys. Irving's genuine love of 
nature gives point to this trivial curiosity in the presence of 
beautiful scenery. 

61 : 31. Apollo. An appropriate oath because Apollo 
was the god associated with the muses. 

62 : 9. Mother Red Cap. Another instance of the sig- 
nificant names given to English taverns. 

62 : 13. Steele. Richard Steele, 1672-1729. One of the 
famous literary group known as '^ Queen Anne^s men.'' 
62 : 14. Perdu. Hidden. 

62 : 16. Spectator. This famous literary periodical, pub- 
lished by Addison and Steele, 1711-1712, did much to pre- 
serve the best qualities of both Puritans and Cavaliers in 
Enghsh life, and raised the standard of literary expression. 

63 : 9. Arcadian. Scenes of country life — pastoral 
scenes such as Sir Philip Sidney used in Arcadia. The 
places referred to are now in London. 



242 NOTES 

63 : 20. Cockney pastorals. '' Cockney '^ is a term applied 
banteringly to persons born in London in derision of their 
dainty city habits. Their ''pastorals" or praises of the 
country are slightly ridiculed, because the places they knew 
were so near the great city. 

63:26. Harrow. Called the ''learned height" because 
of the school there, which is one of the famous public schools 
for boys, founded in 1571, but not opened until 1611. 
It is eleven miles northwest of London. 

64:2. Termagant. Turbulent, quarrelsome — derived 
from the name of an imaginary deity supposed to have been 
worshipped by the Mohammedans, and introduced into the 
Morality Plays as a very boisterous, turbulent person. 

64 : 14. Parnassus. A mountain ridge northwest of 
Athens, celebrated as the haunt of Apollo, the Muses, and 
the nymphs ; hence the seat of music and poetry. 

64 : 25. Jack Straw. The name, or nickname, of one of 
the leaders of the "Rising of the Commons" in 1381, as- 
sociated in this with Wat Tyler and John Ball. 

65 : 15. Human nature. In this statement, which was 
eminently true of Irving, lies the secret of his delightful 
character sketches. 

65 : 24. Jump. Agree. 

66 : 7. Archipelago. The various islands in the ^gean 
Sea east of Greece. 

66 : 12. Pad the hoof. A slang expression meaning to 
go on foot — used especially of highwaymen. The word 
"pad" in this sense was used as early as the sixteenth 
century. 

66 : 18. Robin Hood. The famous English outlaw whose 
courage and attractive personal qualities won the admira- 
tion of the people, whose interest in his adventures resulted 
in many ballads. Some of his associates were the minstrel, 



NOTES 243 

Allan a Dale; the rough priest, Friar Tuck; Clymm of the 
Clough; and Sir William Clondeslie. Sherwood Forest was 
their chief haunt. 

67 : 4. Epping Forest. A royal forest in southwestern 
Essex, once the resort of freebooters, now a pleasure- 
ground for the people of London. 

67 : 10. Waltham Abbey. An old Saxon building about 
twelve miles north of London. King Harold was buried 
there. Chingford Church. An old church in the town of 
Chingford, Essex, not far from London. 

68 : 17. Spanish galleon. A large unwieldy ship with 
three or four decks, used especially as treasure-ships in the 
old Spanish commerce with South America. Yellow boys. 
Gold coins. 

69 : 4. Newgate Calendar. A biographical calendar of 
the most notorious criminals confined in Newgate, the 
famous old London prison. 

70 : 13. Tricks. The humorous skill with which Irving 
makes Tom Dribble tell of the difficulties into which his 
conceit had led him is inimitable. Notice the reminiscent 
force of '^ poetical countenance'^ and the irony of his com- 
plete faith in the chance acquaintance of an hour. 

71 : 21. Esprit de corps. Spirit of sympathy among the 
members of an association or body. 

73 : 32. Pegasus. The winged horse of the Muses. With 
a stroke of his hoof he caused the fountain of Hippocrene, 
which gave poetical inspiration, to spring forth on Mount 
Helicon. He was at last changed into a constellation. 

74 : 16. Ode. These epigrammatic estimates of the com- 
mercial value of poetry are characteristic of Irving's quaint 
conceits and apt expression, as are many other pithy ex- 
pressions of Tom Dribble. 



244 NOTHS 

75 : 19. Bow Street office. The principal police court 
of London is situated in Bow Street, established there in 
1749. 

NOTORIETY 

77 : Title. Notoriety. This short sketch offers most ex- 
cellent material for studying the development of a subject 
by examples. Its paragraph structure, also, is full of 
interest. 

77 : 3. Labyrinths. Notice the full force of the meta- 
phor. What was the classic Labyrinth ? 

77 : 24. Reputation. Note the derivation and full force 
of this word, and trace its influence in determining the de- 
tails of the four instances which follow. 

79 : 1. Rout. A fashionable assembly or large evening 
party. A term much used in the eighteenth-century social 
world. 

79 : 21. Court Calendar. A list of all the nobility, with 
their various histories, titles, etc. 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 

80 : 24. Frost-bitten. Analyze the figure. 

81 : 7. Buckthorne. See how entirely the description of 
Buckthorne is confined to traits of character and peculiar- 
ities of temperament, with no reference to appearance. 
Contrast this with "The Man with the Flexible Nose,'' etc. 

81 : 13. Epicure. Note the figure. This short sketch 
offers good material for emphasizing the effectiveness of 
figurative language. Many words suggest comparisons 
which are not elaborated. 



NOTES 245 

81 : 20. Blue sky. Observe the clear image of which this 
is an element. 

82 : 4. Aurora. In Roman mythology, the goddess of 
the dawn. The poets represented her as rising out of the 
ocean in a chariot, her rosy fingers dropping gentle dew. 

82 : 7. Homilies. Reminiscent of Shakespeare's '^ Ser- 
mons in stones, Books in the running brooks/' etc. 

85 : Title. Terracina. A town on the Mediterranean 
about sixty miles southeast of Rome. It contains the 
ruins of a castle of Theodoric the Goth. 

85 : 2. Estafette. Express or military courier conveying 
government messages. It is derived from an Italian word 
meaning ^^ stirrup/' because he went on horseback. 

85 : 3. Relay. A horse or supplies kept in readiness so 
that the traveller may proceed without delay. 

85 : 18. Rosolio. A favorite Italian drink. 

85 : 19. Per I'amor di Die. '' For the love of God.'' 

86 : 3. Fondi. A town fifty-six miles northwest of Naples, 
It has some ancient and mediaeval ruins — hence would be 
interesting to travellers. 

86 : 30. Signora. The Italian title for a married lady. 

86 : 32. Corpo di Bacco. An old Italian oath, ''By the 
body of Bacchus." 

87 : 9. Theodoric the Goth. A famous king and hero 
of the fifth and sixth centuries. As a boy he was a hostage 
in Constantinople ; later, king of the East Goths and ruler 
of Italy. He is the subject of many fabulous stories, and 
tradition represents him as a great king who made righteous- 
ness prevail, as did Alfred of England. 

87 : 15. Felucca. A small, swift-sailing vessel propelled 
by oars and peculiar sails in the shape of a right-angled 
triangle. It was common on the Mediterranean. 

87 : 30. Naples. On the north side of the Bay of Naples 



246 NOTES 

on the western coast of Italy. It has one of the most beau- 
tiful situations in Europe. Mount Vesuvius is nine miles 
southeast of the city. 

88 : 22. Stilettos. A dagger with a slender, rounded, 
pointed blade. The bandit is not, apparently, careful to 
distinguish between this and the poniard, which has a tri- 
angular or square-shaped blade ending in a point. Carbine. 
A short, light musket. 

89 : 10. Brigands. Lawless men living by plunder, usually 
in mountainous regions — a synonym for banditti. 

89 : 13. Gens-d'armes. Soldiers (men at arms) employed 
in police duties. 

91 : 14. Pontine. Marshes which lie between the sea 
and the Volscian Mountains near Terracina — notoriously 
pestilential and thinly inhabited. 

91 : 19. Landaulet. A small, four-wheeled, covered 
vehicle, whose top is divided into two sections which may 
be lowered to form an open carriage. 

92 : 3. Excellenza. Excellency. Notice the extrava- 
gance of titles which the landlord and others exhibit. 
"Milor'^ is, of course, the Italian's version of ''My Lord.'' 

92 : 11. Englishman. Note the details of this descrip- 
tion, and the manner and possessions of the travelling 
Englishman. 

96 : 17. Innuendo. What was this innuendo? Would 
this witticism be as effective if the word " levelled " were not 
repeated? His cloth. Those of the same occupation as 
himself. The expression originated in the custom of uni- 
formity of dress for people of the same trade or profession. 
The expression is used seriously now only in reference to 
clergymen. 

96 : 26. San Gennaro. " Saint Januarius ! but these 
English are singular people I '' 



NOTES 247 

96 : 32. Procaccio. The express. 

97 : 22. Sicuro. Surely. 

99 : 11. Aquiline. Derived from "Aquila," meaning 
"eagle.'' What is the connection in meaning? 

99 : 14. Improvisatore. One who improvises or origi- 
nates some artistic form without preparation. 

100 : 4. At this moment. A very clear summary of the 
situation in the mountains of the Abruzzi at that time. 

100 : 18. Checked in full career. Stopped when he was in 
the midst of his talk. The " career'' of a knight in mediaeval 
times was the course he ran before he met the opposing 
knight on horseback. 

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 

101 : 1. Antiquary. One who is interested in relics of 
olden times and knows of their uses^ origins, etc. 

101 : 13. Roman Consular s. Coins made in the time of 
the feoman Consuls. As. A Roman copper coin originally 
of a pound weight. Its weight was reduced to two ounces 
in the first Punic War, and to one in the second — hence 
the "Funics" which the antiquary had found. Funics. 
Coins made during the Punic Wars between Rome and 
Carthage in the third century B.C. 

101 : 14. Hannibal. The chief commander of the Car- 
thaginian forces in the Punic Wars. 

101 : 16. Samnite. A coin made in Samnium, a country 
of central Italy, which was sometimes allied with Rome, 
sometimes opposed, — as in the Social War of 90-88 b.c. 

101 : 17. Fhilistis. A coin believed by the antiquarian to 
have been struck in the time of Fhilistis, a queen of Philistia, 
which was an ancient country southwest of Palestine, on 
the Mediterranean. 



248 NOTES 

102 : 2. Pelasgi. An ancient race widely spread over 
Greece and the surrounding countries in prehistoric times. 
The accounts of it were mystical and of doubtful value, but 
full of interest, of course, for an antiquarian. 

102 : 4. Abruzzi. A mountainous region east of Rome — 
at the time indicated in this tale quite wild in parts, and 
the refuge of banditti. 

102 : 22. Peloponnesus. The lower peninsula of Greece — 
so called because its shape resembles that of a mulberry-leaf. 

10!2 : 24. Acropolis. The hill at Athens on which the 
famous Parthenon and other beautiful structures were 
built. In ancient times the word was the name of the cita- 
del of any city. 

102 : 33. Aricia. A town in the province of Rome. 

102 : 34. Troy. An ancient city under Priam, famous for 
the war made against it by the Greeks, and believed to have 
been situated in the northwestern part of Asia Minor. 
Tibur, Osculate, and Proenes. Ancient places in Italy 
colonized by the Greeks or earlier Pelasgians. 

102 : 35. Telegonus. A son of Ulysses, who is said to have 
founded some of the colonies in Italy. 

103 : 8. Tome. A large, ancient volume. 

103 : 9. Spoils of antiquity. What were they? 

103 : 30. Intaglio. A stone with a design cut into its 
surface. 

104 : 7. Buon giorno. Good day. 

104:13. Osteria. Inn — of the same origin as "hos- 
telry '' and "host.^' 

104 : 16. Hemlock. A poison. Socrates was condemned 
to death and drank a cup of hemlock. 

105 : 16. Family watch. A characteristic combination 
of things unlike in most respects, yet connected by the as- 
sociation of the moment. 



NOTES 249 

105 : 22. Galleys. Criminals were often sentenced to 
serve as rowers on the galleys, or vessels which were propelled 
by oars. These were common on the Mediterranean. 

105 : 27. Antiquarian treatise. Would these bandits have 
been likely to want his treatise ? Has the fact any bearing 
on the humorous effect of this passage ? 

106 : 24. Buono viaggio (veagzhio). May you have a 
good voyage. 

107 : 18. Cardinal Gonsalvi. A cardinal is an official in 
the Roman Catholic Church, next below the Pope in rank. 
He was at that time an official of the government, since the 
Church and State had not been separated in Italy. 

108 : 2. Carbonari. Members of a secret political organ- 
ization in Italy in the early nineteenth century, whose ob- 
ject was to change the government into a republic. The 
word means '^coal-men,'' and the organization is believed 
to have started among the charcoal-burners. 

108 : 24. Frascati. A town near Rome in which there are 
interesting old buildings — a Roman theatre. 

108 : 26. Campagna. The great plain around Rome. 

110 : 2. Herculean. Note the softening effect of drop- 
ping the "s'^ when ''an'' was added to Hercules to make 
the adjective. 

110 : 22. Interruption. Does Irving make his descrip- 
tions of bandit life more or less interesting by making them 
parts of a conversation ? 

111 : 9. Recollect an impromptu. What is the innuendo? 
What is an impromptu ? 

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 

112 : 9. Creaked out. Note how effective the figure is. 
112 : 12. Foraging-cap. Follow closely the detail of 



260 NOTES 

this description and consider the value of definite, well- 
selected items in the effect. 

113 : 22. Factotum. Notice the force of this word as 
indicated by its derivation from '^facere/' to do, and 
^'totum/'all. 

116 : 12. Slattern. Why " of course''? 

117 : 33. Polonaise. A woman who is a native of Poland. 

119 : 18. Conversaziones. A kind of salon, or reception, 
where people meet for conversation. 

120 : 11. Confitures. Confectionery or sweetmeats. 

120 : 16. Loretto. A town of eastern Italy where there 
is a famous shrine, called Santa Casa, which is reputed to be 
the house of the Virgin transported by angels from Nazareth, 
and miraculously placed there in 1294. 

120:17. Peccadilloes. Derived from the Latin ^^peccare," 
to sin, with the diminutive termination; hence, little sins. 

120 : 20. Cockle-shell. The pilgrim of the Middle Ages 
with only his staff, small bag (scrip) and with a cockle-shell 
on his hat as a sign that he had been to some shrine, es- 
pecially that of Saint James at Compostello. 

121 : 31. Out of time. What does this indicate? Is it 
at all significant in the description of the princess ? 

124 : 17. Wainscot. A wooden boarding on the walls of 
an apartment. 

124 : 22. Domestic. Derived from Latin '' domus," home ; 
hence, one who works about a home. 

125 : 31. Extricated. Note the full value of this word in 
giving the idea of an intricate plot. 

126 : 20. Massacred. Used when a number of human 
beings not able to defend themselves are killed in an atro- 
cious manner. 

129 : 10. Buzzed. Note the effective word indicating 
both the manner of telling and the effect upon the hearer. 



NOTES 251 

129 : 30. Generalship. Note the effect of contrast with 
'* dashing valor. '^ 

131 : 6. Votive. Note the Latin derivation. 

131 : 7. Santa Casa. See ^'Loretto/' page 250. 
131:16. Of his importance. Irving's characteristic satire 

appears in the unquestioning faith of Hobbs and Dobbs, 
the linen-draper and greengrocer, in the world-wide fame 
and importance of a London drysalter of Throgmorion 
Street — the fact of his being a magistrate is of less im- 
portance ! 

ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 

132 : 25. Exaggeration. Irving's observation of national 
traits is keen and accurate. Compare the Italian host or 
courier with the English servant, John, or the Polish Caspar. 

133 : 14. Scaramouch. A personage in the old Italian 
comedy characterized by great boastfulness and cowardice. 

133 : 27. Hectoring. Worrying or irritating by words 
in rather a bullying manner. 

134 : 2. Well-stuffed. Note Irving's grouping of unlike 
things by means of some expression which gives a humorous 
suggestion by its very appropriateness to each. 

135:1. Portmanteau. From the French '^porter,'' to 
carry, and '' manteau,'' a cloak. Hence a case for carrying 
clothing. The old ones were nearly cylindrical and rather 
flexible. 

135:4. Squalling. Why does Irving use "screaming'' 
for the young ladies and "squalling'^ for the maid? 

135 : 8. Read the riot act. The reading of the act, or 
law, in regard to riots might quell a London uprising : as a 
suggestion for putting down bandits, it serves Irving 's hu- 
morous designs well. 



252 NOTES 

135 : 22. Eased of. Idiomatic expression for deprived 
of — with, of course, a humorous suggestion of relief from 
a burden. 

136 : 9. Quite picturesque. How does Irving make his 
reader feel toward ^'The Popkinses'^? How is this feeling 
brought about? 

136 : 27. Walked away. Note the difference between 
''The Englishman'' and "Hobbs and Dobbs.'' What pro- 
duces the different impressions ? 

137 : 20. Wallowing. Rolling about. 

138 : 1. Exaggerations. Note the values of these Latin 
derivations. 

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 

139 : 10. Dragoons. Mounted soldiers. 

139 : 17. Sang-froid. A French expression meaning 
coolness of demeanor — ''sang'' = blood, "froid" = cold. 

140 : 5. Quanto sans insensibili questi Inglesi. What 
lack of sensibility these English have ! 

141 : 30. Testily. In a fretful or irritated way. The 
characterization of "The Englishman" is one of the finest 
things in The Tales. Notice here how his irritation at 
having made (5ne mistake is leading him toward another. 
He will take no notice of the disappearance of the other 
carriage. 

142 : 2. On. The use of prepositions has changed some- 
what. We would say "at a foot-pace," though we use the 
idiom "on the run." 

142:11. Desperadoes. Ruffians — wild, furious men. 

142 : 28. Scampa via. Hurry away ! 

143 : 19. Gulley. Now spelled "gully," a deep, narrow 
passage which has been made by water. 



NOTES 253 

145 : 2. Phlegm. Indifference, coldness of manner. We 
have in this sentence the climax in the description of the 
Englishman's character, just as the rescue of the lady is 
the climax of his action. 



THE MONEY-DIGGERS 

149 : Title. The Money-Diggers. These stories, like the 
History of New York, show Irving's appreciation of the 
humorous side of early New York history. His genius seized 
upon the material and immortalized it. They are presented 
as the writings of Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old Dutch 
schoolmaster, who disappeared from his lodgings and left 
only debts and some manuscript. Three or four notices of 
his disappearance and of his landlord's determination to 
publish the manuscript in order to reimburse himself, ap- 
peared at intervals of about two .weeks before the History 
of New York was published. This fiction was kept up in 
connection with most of the tales of New York life. Tales 
of the burial of treasure by pirates and smugglers, especially 
by Captain Kidd, led many inhabitants of New York and 
its vicinity to dig for the hidden money. 

149 : 2. Manhattoes. Inhabitants of Manhattan, origi- 
nally the Indians of the island. 

149 : 6. Perplexed. Used here in the primitive sense of 
confused, or made intricate; a little farther on we have 
perplexity, meaning confusion of thought. 

150 : 9. Oloffe the Dreamer. A character in Irving's 
History of New York. 

150 : 17. St. Nicholas. Besides being the original " Santa 
Glaus," he was the patron of sea-faring men, and has been 
called the patron saint of New York. 



254 NOTES 

150 : 23. Dutch urchins. One must remember that this 
tale was supposed to have been found amongst the papers 
of Diedrich Knickerbocker. 

150 : 27. Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla, a dangerous rock, 
and Charybdis, a whirlpool, whose relative position on op- 
posite sides of the Strait of Messina made navigation very 
difficult there. 

151 : 14. Melancholy carcass. A very clear image. 
Notice how its character is emphasized by the ghostly 
tales connected with it. 

151 : 19. Pelorus. An old name for Sicily, or, strictly 
speaking, the northeast promontory, near Scylla, where the 
passage was most difficult. 

152 : 5. Contemporary historian. Notice how inimitably 
Irving keeps up the fiction of Knickerbocker's author- 
ship. 

152 : 15. Frogsneck. A place on the Sound near West- 
chester village. It is a curious example of the way names 
are changed, since it was once " Throggmorton's Neck.'' 
Abbreviation made it Throgg's Neck, and then Frogsneck. 
It is now Throgg's Neck. 

152 : 16. Purblind. Near-sighted or dim-sighted. 

152 : 23. Authenticity. Why does Irving differentiate 
this from the other tales of pirates, etc., and speak of it as 
authentic ? 



KIDD THE PIRATE 

153 : Title. Kidd. The famous sea-captain of the seven- 
teenth century, who, after assisting the government a little, 
as he agreed to do, in suppressing pirates, turned pirate 
himself. His bravery, his romantic career, and especially 



NOTES 256 

his fabulous treasure, have made him the centre of much 
interest to lovers of adventure. 

153 : 8. Law and Gospel. An old expression for all the 
controlling principles of man and God. 

153 : 11. Privateers. Why are they called ''schools of 
piracy '' ? Note what follows. 

153 : 18. Buccaneers. A word of American origin, and 
first used as a name for the French settlers in Hayti, etc., 
whose main business was to hunt and smoke meat, etc., 
from the French word "boucan,'^ to smoke or dry meat. 
It is most generally known, however, as the name of adven- 
turers who robbed the Spaniards in America in the seven- 
teenth and eighteenth centuries. 

153 : 25. Concert. To plan together, to arrange. 

154 : 4. Free-booters. Synonymous with buccaneer — 
as are also "picaroon,'' from the Spanish " picaro,'' a rogue 
and pirate. 

154 : 30. Mother Gary's chicken. Several species of sm.all 
sea-birds, such as the stormy petrel, are called by this 
name. 

155 : 10. Madeiras. Islands in the Atlantic Ocean be- 
longing to Portugal, near the northwestern coast of 
Africa. Bonavista. One of the Cape Verde Islands 
west of Africa. Madagascar. The large island east of 
Africa. The names of these places emphasize the wide 
range of Captain Kidd's adventures. 

155 : 12. Quedah. A region on the southwestern coast 
of the Malay Peninsula. 

155 : 30. Gut-purse. One who steals purses or their 
contents; the 'term originated when men wore their 
purses tied to their girdles. 

156 : 8. Screen. To separate- or cut off from danger. 

157 : 29. Truth. Notice the touch of humor. 



266 NOTES 

159 : 5. Adrian Block. A sea-captain of Holland, who 
obtained from the States General or legislature of that 
country a grant of the New Netherlands in 1614. 

159 : 11. Dons. A Spanish title formerly given to noble- 
men and gentlemen only. 

159 : 15. Whaler. One who sails on a vessel which goes 
out in search of w^hales. Notice the brief character sketch 
and the contrast with the alderman. 

159 : 20. Bible. Notice in this burial of the Bible, the 
connection with the devil which marked so many of the 
Captain Kidd stories. 

159:25. Odsfish. "Ods'^ is a corruption lof "God's" 
and was formerly used as an oath with many other words. 
In this case the word was suggested by their occupation. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 

160 : 9. Van Kortlandt. See Oloffe the Dreamer, p. 150, 
a character in The History of New York. 

160 : 15. Family genius. The gentle, humorous fillip 
with which the placid Dutch family is characterized here 
introduces an essential feature of the story in Irving's in- 
imitable manner. Yet he nowhere says they were "cabbage- 
heads !'' 

160 : 20. Dynasty. Irving's humorous effects are often 
secured by using a word commonly associated with things 
of great importance or value in connection with something 
rather insignificant; the exaggeration seems comical. 

161 : 3. Seat of Government. What feature of Irving's 
style does this illustrate? 

161 : 8. Martins. Notice Irving's mention of birds and 
flowers. 



NOTES 257 

161 : 28. The empire. An apt comparison with the at- 
titude of some German princes when the German Empire 
was formed in 1871. 

161 : 29. Patriarchal bench. A good instance of figura- 
tive suggestion combined with characteristic detail. 

162 : 1. A Helpmate. Compare this sketch of a Dutch 
woman with others, Dame Van Winkle, and Mynheer Van 
TassePs wise wife, who said that ^^ girls could take care of 
themselves, but ducks and geese were foolish things and must 
be looked after. ^' 

162 : 15. A sampler. A piece of needlework originally 
done to preserve patterns. The custom of having children 
make samplers as exhibitions of their skill was very general 
in well-ordered families of the olden times. 

162 : 31. Noble subjects. What are they? 

163:8. Annoint. Now spelled '^ anoint.^' How can 
you account for the use of this word, which means to pour 
oil upon or to consecrate by the use of oil? 

163 : 12. Chief cause of anxiety. Notice Irving's usual 
skill in preparing for a coming climax, while he suggests 
the contrary. Wolfert's mind can only act in the lines in 
which his ancestors have thought; hence no thought but 
the growing of cabbages has suggested itself. 

163 : 24. To pinch up, etc. One of the unique features 
of Irving's manner is this curiously subtle association of 
animate and inanimate things. 

164 : 2, Dutch beauty. Does Irving do what he says 
he has not talent for ? 

165 : 16. Low Dutch. Piatt Deutsch, a name given to 
the people of the ^'low'^ countries about the North Sea — 
especially Holland and adjacent regions. 

165 : 26. Grimalkin. A gray cat, especially an old cat 
which might have been bewitched. 



268 NOTES 

167 :21. Shuffle-board. Also "shovel-board/' A game 
in which the players drive, by blows of the hand, pieces of 
money or counters toward certain lines or compartments. 
Vhe game was held in high repute in early times, perhaps 
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Later it was only 
played by the common people or in remote regions. 

168 : 3. Walloons. A people found chiefly in southern 
Belgium and some adjacent places, who are descended from 
the ancient Belgce. The Walloons of Colonial New York 
were Huguenot settlers from Artois in France. 

168 : 19. Ramm. A very entertaining characterization. 
Compare with Nicholas Vedder in Rip Van Winkle. 

169 : 3. Peter Stuyvesant. The last of the Dutch gov- 
ernors. After surrendering to the English, in 1664, he went 
back to the Netherlands; but later returned and lived on 
his farm, the Bouwerie, or Bowery, of New York. 

169 : 6. Bottom of brandy. That which was at the bot- 
tom of the glass. 

169 : 12. Walks. The technical expression for the wan- 
derings of a ghost. 

169 : 14. Fudge. Nonsense or rubbish. 

170 : 20. Mount ^tna. Also spelled ^' Etna," is an active 
volcano in Sicily. 

170 : 22. Very rich man. Irving centres his characteriza- 
tion very cleverly around the riches of Ramm, and his repe- 
tition is brought in most skilfully, so as to emphasize the 
idea and make it ludicrous. 

170 : 25. Van Hook. The old Dutch names are worth 
attention. Besides their appropriateness in obvious ways, 
there seems to be a subtle suggestion of the individual 
characteristics. It is often worth while to connect the 
sound of the name with such phrases in the text as '^ incon- 
tinence of words'^ and ^'prosing, narrative old men.'' 



NOTES 269 

170 : 31. Digged. One of the old forms in good use in 
Irving's day, but not now. Notice others in the Tales. 

171:7. Kidd. Wilham Kidd, born in Grenock/ Scotland, 
hanged as a pirate in 1701. The gold he buried off Long 
Island was recovered, but his other hidden treasures have 
never been found. 

171 : 14. Morgan. A Welshman of the seventeenth cen- 
tury who ran away to sea, became a leader of the bucca- 
neers, ravaged and pillaged Cuba and other Spanish re- 
gions, and finally organized a large force and took Panama. 
He was knighted by Charles II and put in command of 
Jamaica. 

171 : 18. Gunpowder tales. Irving is a master in the use 
of words whose crowd of associations carry his meaning 
without effort to the reader. 

171 : 26. Pensively. Thoughtfully. 

172 : 7. Doubloon. A golden coin of Spain and the Span- 
ish-American states, originally of double the value of the 
pistole ; that is, about eight dollars in the eighteenth cen- 
tury. 

172 : 19. Pieces-of -eight. Spanish dollars. 

172 : 20. Moidores. Gold coins formerly current in Por- 
tugal, equivalent in value to about six dollars and fifty cents. 
Ducats. A gold coin of varying form and value, formerly 
in use in several European countries. Pistareens. The name 
given to a Spanish coin used in the West Indies. The 
"peseta'' is a silver coin of modern Spain worth about 
twenty cents. 

173 : 11. Good luck. The old signs of good or ill luck, 
the meaning of dreams, etc., find in Irving's delineations the 
place demanded by their importance in the lives of his 
people. The unusual thing always suggests to the uncul- 
tured mind something of good or evil to himself; though 



260 NOTES 

sometimes these signs are based on vital instincts and 
intuitions which are apprehended but not understood. 

174 : 7. Of another guess sort. Colloquial and rather 
awkward expression of his belief that she would have an- 
other sort of gold — a sort which she might guess. 

175 : 19. Stiver. A small coin formerly current in Hol- 
land and in the Dutch colonies. 

177 : 8. Abundant sympathy. We have here a fine in- 
stance of the kindly satire vv^ith which Irving shows up 
a social defect in the strong light of genuine sympathetic 
humanity. 

178 : 10. Amphibious. What does the figurative use of 
this word suggest ? 

180 : 33. Spanish Don. One of the nobility of Spain, 
a great lord. 

181 : 4. Leviathan. Any monstrous sea animal. Note 
how these comparisons characterize "the stranger.'' 

182 : 19. Tarpauling. Another spelling of ''tarpaulin/' 
which was occasionally used for sailor because of the tar- 
paulin hats which sailors wear. The word is interesting 
because it was first a compound of tar and ''pauling," 
which meant covering. Canvas covered with tar to make 
it waterproof, and later, any waterproof cloth was so called. 

183 : 6. Hand-grenades. An iron shell, usually spherical, 
which is filled with powder, lighted by means of a fuse, and 
thrown by hand at an enemy. 

184 : 20. Basilisk. The fabled animal of this name had 
a penetrating, malignant eye; and, according to some of 
the tales, had the power to charm, or make rigid, whatever 
it looked upon. 

186 : 12. The Spanish Main. A rather indefinite name 
for the ocean bordering on the northern shore of South 
America, and about which the Spanish territory lay. 



NOTES 261 

186 : 15. Crucifixes. The buccaneers often robbed the 
churches of towns which they pillaged of all valuables. 

Irving makes one see how entirely the thought of what 
chalices and crucifixes symbolize is lost sight of by one who 
thinks only of money or gold. 

187 : 24. Frying-Pan. This and the preceding are the 
names of various little islands in Hell Gate. 

187 : 29. Blackweirs Island. It is interesting to contrast 
Irving's account of this region with its condition to-day, 
when most of the rocks which beset the channel have been 
blasted away, and the islands are the sites of great city 
institutions, the jail on Blackwell's, etc. 

188 : 7. Snag nook. A sheltered place made by the 
lodgment of a snag against the shore. 

192 : 14. Gossip tankard. Gossip is a curious word of 
many meanings. Here it is used adjectively to describe 
the cup, or tankard, of drink which was at each man's side 
as the familiar friends sat and talked, or gossipped, together. 

193 : 30. Muzzy. Dazed, stupid. 

193 : 33. Rushlight. A light made by stripping a rush, 
or reed, of all its fibre except a little to hold the pith, and 
then dipping it repeatedly in tallow. When the tallow was 
burned away, the rush flared up before it went out. 

195:31. Dowse. Also spelled ''douse.'' It means to 
plunge into a fluid or to pour a fluid over something, also to 
strike. Can you see how the meaning here of putting out 
a light might be derived from either of these ? 

197 : 8. Valuable philosophy. A good instance of one 
characteristic form of Irving's humor. Why is it funny? 

197 : 20. Davy Jones' locker. Davy Jones's locker is the 
ocean, especially when it is considered as the grave of those 
who perish at sea. Jones is possibly a corruption of Jonah, 
the prophet who was thrown into the sea. 



262 NOTES 

198 : 9. Dead-lights. Strong shutters fastened over cabin 
windows or portholes to keep out the water in rough weather. 

200 : 20. Almshouse. Appreciation of Irving depends 
upon sympathy with such light, humorous suggestions as 
that which is implied here. The apparent agreement with 
an absurd philosophy of life marks its ludicrous features. 

201 : 12. Wallabout. A bay of the East River at Brook- 
lyn, where the United States now has a navy-yard. The 
British prison ships were moored there in the Revolutionary 
War. 

202 : 16. Bloomen-dael. This was so named from the 
nurseries which were there in early times; now called Bloom- 
ingdale. 

203 : 18. Fire-bird. Irving, in a note, calls this the or- 
chard oriole. To-day the name fire-bird is given to the 
scarlet tanager, which has deep-red plumage with black 
wings, while the feathers of the orchard oriole are a dull 
orange — not at all brilliant in color, like the Baltimore 
oriole. Irving's usual accuracy about natural things makes 
one wonder if the name has changed. 

207 : 17. Dominie. From the Latin '^dominus,'^ lord. 
The dominie was the minister, who was usually the school- 
master as well. To-day one hears the minister called 
dominie in the villages of the Catskill Mountains. 

207 : 24. High-German. The way in which the higher, 
inland regions of Germany are distinguished from the lower 
ones about the North Sea. 

207 : 28. Robe of knowledge. The old magicians are always 
presented to our imaginations in an ample robe, whose 
folds aided in imparting magic powers; here the "camlet.^' 

207 : 29. Boorhaave. A famous physician. Van Hel- 
mont. A famous Flemish physician of the early seventeenth 
century, who did valuable work, especially in chemistry. 



NOTES 263 

Irving^s association of the ^'High German Doctor '^ with 
these world-famous men is a part of his humorous satire. 
208 : 2. Physiognomy. Note the humorous satire. 

208 : 17. Astrology. Note carefully the nature of the 
doctor's learning as indicated in this, and in the words 
alchemy, divination, mystic lore, necromancer, and so forth. 

209 : 16. Mr. Knickerbocker. The reader must keep in 
mind Irving's literary device of presenting these Dutch 
stories as having been found among the papers of Diedrich 
Knickerbocker, an old schoolmaster. This gives him oppor- 
tunity for humorous satire on the superstitions of the time 
and people of whom he writes. 

211 : 1. Portal. What is the humorous comparison sug- 
gested here ? 

212 : 4. Gotham. 

"Three wise men of Gotham 
Went to sea in a bowl. 
If the bowl had been stronger, 
My story 'd been longer. '^ 

— Nursery rhyme. 

213 : 17. Divining rod. We have described here the con- 
fident exercise of a superstition which was widely spread and 
in which many people have had firm faith. 

214 : 2. Pots tausendl A common German exclamation 
of irritation. 

214 : 11. Potent odor. Why does Irving call the odor 
potent? Notice the resemblance to the smell of brimstone 
and assafoetida. 

214 : 20. Conjuration. The act of calling spirits to appear 
before mortals. 

219 : 5. Picaroon. The shallop, or little boat, looked as 
if it might be that of a pirate or buccaneer. 

219 : 30. Pipkin. A small utensil. 



264 NOTES 

220 : 15. Cabbage-garden. Notice how the original idea 
appears as the tale draws near its climax, and the skill with 
which Irving draws the humorous picture of a man dying 
because he cannot find reputed hidden treasures, while a 
fortune lies before him in the thing he dreads most. 

221 : 9. Peaked nose. Notice how the alliteration with 
"pellucid'' helps to emphasize the humor of the image. 

221 : 17. Nibbed. Mended the "nib'' or point of his 
quill pen. 

223 : 2. Rich men. His ability to see the humorous 
side of such characteristic facts of New York life as this was 
a large factor in making Irving's works popular. 

224 : 2. Arm-chair. It is a skilful touch of story-telling 
which makes Wolfert Webber find his crowning glory in 
this sort of established preeminence, even more than in the 
house and gingerbread-colored coach. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Abednego, 237. 
Abmzzi, 248. 
Abundant sympathy, 260. 
Accidence, 227. 
Acquiescent, 234. 
Acropolis, 248. 
Adrian Block, 255. 
Adventure, 252. 
Ailes de pigeon, 231. 
All was in vain, 234. 
Almshouse, 262. 
Alteratives, 226. 
Amazon, 239. 
Amen Corner, 240. 
Amphibious, 260. 
Ancien regime, 232. 
Ancient antlers, 227. 
Anoint, 257. 

Antiquarian treatise, 249. 
Antiquary, 247. 
Apollo, 241. 
Apologue, 226. 
Aquiline, 247. 
Arcadian, 241. 
Archipelago, 242. 
Aricia, 248. 
Arm-chair, 264. 
As, 247. 
Astrology, 263. 
At present, 229. 
At this moment, 232, 247. 
Aurora, 245. 
Authenticity, 254. 

Bannockburn, 231. 
Barricadoes, 233. 



Basilisk, 260. 
Beau Tibbs, 239. 
Belle-esprit, 238. 
Below the salt, 237. 
Benshee, 228. 
Bernard Lintot, 240. 
Bible, 256. 

Blackwell's Island, 261, - 
Bloomen-dael, 262. 
Blue sky, 245. 
Blue-stocking parties, 226. 
Blunderbuss, 234. 
Bonavista, 255. 
Bookseller, 236. 
Boorhaave, 262. 
Botany Bay, 235. 
Bottom of brandy, 258. 
Bow Street office, 244. 
Brigands, 246. 
Buccaneers, 255. 
Buon giorno, 248. 
Buono viaggio, 249. 
Burgundy, 237. 
Buzzed, 250. 

Cabbage-garden, 264. 
ga-9a! 231. 
Campagna, 249. 
Canaille, 234. 
Carbine, 246. 
Carbonari, 249. 
Carbuncles, 230. . 
Cedar-parlor, 228. 
Charles the Second, 236. 
Chasseur, 233. 
Chateau, 229. 
266 



266 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Checked in full career, 247. 

Chief cause of anxiety, 257. 

Chingford Church, 243. 

Chintz-room, 228. 

Ci-devant, 226. 

Cloth, 246. 

Cockle-shells, 250. 

Cockney pastorals, 242. 

Coligni, 232. 

Concert, 255. 

Conde, 233. 

Confitures, 250. 

Conjuration, 263. 

Contemporary historian, 254. 

Conti, 233. 

Conversaziones, 250. 

Corpo di Bacco, 245. 

Coterie, 236. 

Court Calendar, 244. 

Co vent Garden, 238. 

Creaked out, 249. 

Cricket, 241. 

Cross-bow, 230. 

Crucifixes, 261. 

Cut and come again, 236. 

Cut-purse, 255. 

Davy Jones' locker, 261. 
Dead-lights, 262. 
Derbyshire, 234. 
Descanted, 232. 
Desperadoes, 252. 
Dieppe, 233. 
Digged, 259. 

Digger of Greek roots, 240. 
Divining rod, 263. 
Domestic, 250. 
Dominie, 262. 
Donjon, 231. 
Dons, 256. 



Doubloon, 259. 
Dowse, 261. 
Dragoons, 252. 
Ducats, 259. 

Due de Longueville, 233. 
Duke de Guise, 231. 
Duodecimo men, 237. 
Dutch beauty, 257. 
Dutch urchins, 254. 
Dynasty, 256. 

Ear-locks, 230. 
Eased of, 252. 
Egad, 234. 
Elizabeth, 236. 
En croupe, 233. 
Englishman, 246. 
Epicure, 244. 
Epping Forest, 243. 
Esprit du corps, 243. 
Estafelte, 245. 
Exaggeration, 251. 
Exaggerations, 252. 
Excellenza, 246. 
Excommunicated, 235. 
Extricated, 250. 

Factotum, 250. 
Fagot, 232. 
Family geniua, 256. 
Family watch, 248. 
Farrago, 232. 
Felucca, 245. 
Field-day, 237. 
Fire-bird, 262. 
Flambeaux, 233. 
Fleet Market, 238. 
Fondi, 245. 
Fo raging-cap, 249. 
Forte-piano, 237. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



267 



Fosse, 233. 
Fountains, 229. 
Frascati, 249. 
Free-booters, 255. 
French Revolution, 229. 
Friends, 235. 
Frogsneck, 254. 
Fronde, 232. 
Frost-bitten, 244. 
Frying-Pan, 261. 
Fudge, 258. 

Gala suit of faded brocade, 227. 

Galleys, 249. 

Garreteer, 237, 

Generalship, 251. 

Gens d'armes, 246. 

Geoffrey Crayon, 226. 

Giant, 230. 

Goldy, 241. 

Gonsalvi, 249. 

Good, 234. 

Good luck, 259. 

Gossip tankard, 261. 

Gotham, 263. 

Gothic, 241. 

Green-arbor Court, 238. 

Gregarious, 236. 

Grunalkin, 257. 

Gulley, 252. 

Gunpowder tales, 259. 

Halo, 240. 

Hand-grenades, 260. 

Hannibal, 247. 

Harrow, 242. 

Healing in the creak of his shoes, 

225. 
Hectoring, 251. 
Heels tripped up, 225. 



Helpmate, 257. 
Hemlock, 248. 
Henry the Fourth, 230. 
Herculean, 249. 
Hereditary china, 227. 
Highgate, 239. 
High-German, 262. 
Hippocrates, 226. 
His opinion, 240. 
Hogarth, 238. 
Homilies, 245. 
Hot-pressed, 237. 
However, gentlemen, 230. 
Human nature, 242. 
Hybla, 239. 

Improvisatore, 247. 
In at the death, 227. 
Innuendo, 246. 
Intaglio, 248. 
Interruption, 249. 
Irruption, 231. 

Jack Staw, 242. 
John Baliol, 231. 
Jump, 242. 

Kidd, 254 

Knickerbocker, 263. 
Knight of the Post, 234. 

Labyrinths, 244. 

Landaulet, 246. 

Law and Gospel, 255. 

Leviathan, 260. 

Like a lobster, 228. 

Like the house of our host, 229. 

Literary landmarks, 236. 

Loretto, 250. 

Low Dutch, 257. 



268 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Lucubration, 225. 
Luminaries, 235. 

Madagascar, 255. 
Madeiras, 255. 
Manhattoes, 253. 
Martins, 256. 
Massacred, 250. 
Mazarin, 232. 
Melancholy carcass, 254. 
Mentz, 225. 
Meshech, 237. 
Milesian, 228. 
Minerva, 240. 
Miniature, 234. 
Moidores, 259. 
Money-Diggers, 253. 
Moore, 240. 
Morgan, 259. 

Mother Gary's chicken, 255. 
Mother Red Cap, 241. 
Mount iEtna, 258. 
Muses, 238. 
Muzzy, 261. 
My crest fell, 240. 

Naples, 245. 
Newgate Calendar, 243. 
Nibbed, 264. 
Nimrod, 227. 
Noble subjects, 257. 
Noblesse, 229. 
Notoriety, 244. 

Oaken towel, 235. 

Ode, 243. 

Odsfish, 256. 

Of another guess sort, 260. 

Of his importance, 251. 

Oloffe the Dreamer, 253. 



On, 252. 
Osteria, 248. 
Out of time, 250. 

Pad the hoof, 242. 

Pardonnez-moi, 232. 

Parnassus, 242. 

Paternoster Row, 240. 

Patriarchal bench, 257. 

Pays de Caux, 229. 

Peaked nose, 264. 

Peccadilloes, 250. 

Pegasus, 243. 

Pelasgi, 248. 

Peloponnesus, 248. 

Pelorus, 254. 

Pensively, 259. 

Perdu, 241. 

Per I'amor di Dio, 245. 

Perplexed, 253. 

Peter Stuyvesant, 258. 

Philistls, 247. 

Philos, 239. 

Phlegm, 253. 

Physiognomy, 263. 

Picaroon, 263. 

Pieces of eight, 259. 

Pipkin, 263. 

Pistareens, 259. 

Poissarde, 231. 

Polonaise, 250. 

Pontine, 246. 

Pop visit, 229. 

Portal, 263. 

Porte Cocheres; 233. 

Portmanteau, 251. 

Postern, 233. 

Postilion, 229. 

Potent enemy, the tea-kettle, 227. 

Potent odor, 263, 



INDEX TO NOTES 



269 



Pots tausend, 263. 
Preux chevalier, 231. 
Privateers, 255. 
Procaccio, 247. 
Proenes, 248. 
Panics, 247. 
Purblind, 254. 

Put the housekeeper to her 
trumps, 227. 

Quanto sans insensibili questi 

Inglesi, 252. 
Quarto, 225. 
Quedah, 255. 
Queen Anne, 236. 
Quid pro quo, 235. 
Quip and a fillip, 238. 
Quite picturesque, 252. 

Raised his nightcap, 232. 

Ramm, 258. 

Read the riot act, 251. 

Recollect an impromptu, 249. 

Relay, 245. 

Reputation, 244. 

Rich men, 264. 

Robe of knowledge, 262. 

Robin Hood, 242. 

Robustious, 227. 

Roman Consulars, 247. 

Rosolio, 245. 

Rout, 244. 

Rushlight. 261. 

Sampler, 257. 
St. Nicholas, 253. 
Saint Paul's, 239. 
Samnite, 247. 
Sanctum sanctorum, 240. 
San Gennaro, 246. 



Sang-froid, 252. 

Sans-culottes, 231. 

Santa Casa, 251. 

Scampa via, 252. 

Scaramouch, 251. 

Screen, 255. 

Scylla and Charybdis, 254. 

Seat of Government, 256. 

Shadrach, 237. 

Shuffie-board, 258. 

Sicuro, 247. 

Signora, 245. 

Slattern, 250. 

Smack, 229. 

Snagnook, 261. 

Snoring, 228. 

Spanish Don, 260. • 

Spanish galleon, 243. 

Spanish Main, 260. 

Spectator, 241. 

Spit, 233. 

Spoils of antiquity, 248. 

Squalling, 251. 

Steele, 241. 

Stilettos, 246. 

Stiver, 260. 

Stratford-on-Avon, 239. 

Taboo'd, 235. 
Tankard, 238. 
Tarpauling, 260. 
Telegonus, 248. 
Tenth of August, 231. 
Termagant, 242. 
Terracina, 245. 
Testily, 252. 
Tete-a-tete, 235. 
That is all, 234. 
The empire, 256. 
The Great Unknown, 226. 



270 



INDEX TO NOTES 



The haunted head, 228. 

Their own chimneys, 241. 

Theodoric, the Goth, 245. 

Tibur, 248. 

Tome, 248. 

To pinch up, 257. 

Trencher, 237. 

Tricks, 243. 

Troy, 248. 

Truth, 255. 

Tuileries, 230. 

Turenne, 232. 

Valuable philosophy, 261. 
Van Helmont, 262. 
Van Hook, 258. 
Van Kortlandt, 256. 
Varlet, 234. 



Very rich man, 258. 
Village literati, 239. 
Vincennes, 233. 
Viragoes, 239. 
Votive, 251. 

Wainscot, 250. 
Walked away, 252. 
Walks, 258. 
Wallabout, 262. 
Walloons, 258. 
Wallowing, 252. 
Waltham Abbey, 243. 
Wars of the league, 229. 
Weaver's beam, 230. 
Well-stuffed, 251. 
West End, 238. 
Whaler, 256. 



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